This Much Madness
by DC41781
Summary: While caught up in the struggles of their new found intimacy, Norman and Norma get sucked into the dark underbelly of White Pine Bay. Sequel to Burn.
1. Chapter 1

Blood. It swirls down the drain bright red, dilutes to pink the farther it goes. Norman stares at it, follows it all the way down until it disappears from sight. It's not his blood. It isn't her blood either. He drops his head to the cold tile, feels the hot water run in rivulets down his back, washing more foreign blood away. From behind him, there's the sound of her sniffling. He's trying his hardest to block it out, but it invades every pore and suffocates him. Slowly, he backs away from the shower head and lets her pass him.

She presses her palms into the tile and bends over. When she straightens back up, he grabs her around the waist from behind. She stiffens. His eyes fall closed. Someone else's blood runs between them and trails down the drain.

He doesn't know what to say, can't think of what to do. It's not just someone else's blood; it's someone else's hands, too. Someone else's hands have touched her, imprinted on her, stolen what's his. Such a stupid mistake. Such a dumb thing to do. Going to that party when he should've been here with her. Someone else's hands have been in the place of his and Norman can't stand it.

For endless minutes, she stays in his embrace. The water goes ice cold, but neither of them notice.

She turns in his arms and their eyes meet. The blood continues to spin down the drain. Her eyes are dead. The other man has done this to her. Norman doesn't dare look away from her; she wants him to see this. Her anguish, her disappointment. That other man's blood is on her hands and that's all Norman can think about. The knife going in again and again and again.

He ducks his head to break their deadlock. He doesn't know what he expects from her, but it certainly isn't her hand cupping his cheek or her soft voice saying his name or her mouth against his. More blood and it's his now. She draws it when she bites down hard on his bottom lip. The taste of metal flows between them, their kiss open mouthed and desperate. The knob squeaks as he turns off the shower and uses his body to press her against the far wall.

She's crying. He can taste the salt. It makes him dizzy. That taste, that weakness. It's the most she's ever showed him, though it's still less than what she showed Keith, the other man. The other man whose hands have been where his are now. The other man who forced himself against her, inside her.

Norman's hands get bold with the thought, trailing along the edges of her hips and grabbing at the back of her thighs. She doesn't protest, but he can feel her hesitation. He just wants it back. All that's rightfully his. Her mouth and her skin and the sounds from her lips. His. Her hands press hard against his shoulders, but it does nothing to stop him. He only kisses her deeper, tugging at her leg until it's up around his hip.

She doesn't struggle, but he knows she wants to. He can't imagine why she would; he wouldn't hurt her.

She bites down again, right on the open wound, ripping the skin a little further. He hisses and the kiss breaks. A single droplet of blood rides down his chin. This connection of theirs isn't sweet anymore. There's something sinister within it now. In this showdown, this power struggle, this mutual transgression. He'd get nothing if he didn't find a way to make her understand.

He leans back toward her, lets his breath fan out across her lips. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." It's the first words that have been spoken since the incident in the kitchen. His only words since he arrived home to find her bent over the kitchen table with her clothes torn and a strange man behind her breathing heavy from the exertion.

Her fingers lace through his hair, which is drying quickly and knotting. They're his tears now, tracking burning paths down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry. It was stupid. I'm sorry." He can't remember what they'd been fighting about this morning. It seemed so insignificant now. What had she even said to him that would make him rush to that party with those girls? The memory was a blur and he didn't ever want to recover it.

"Do you believe me?"

She nods and breaks away from him, stepping out of the shower and then out of the bathroom altogether.

"Mother."

She doesn't look back at him.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Opening scene is a flashback. The rest takes place in the present.

* * *

It only took a split second for her to decide that she wanted to dive off this particular cliff. Lucky for her, she found Norman at the bottom, ready and just as willing to give in to what now seemed so inevitable. Something inside her had known for a long time that they would end up like this: desperate for each other with no regards for logic or ethics.

So, now, they're here, tangled up in the sheets, her straddling his lap while he holds her close. Every so often their lips would meet and those were the moments where Norma became certain that this was the greatest feeling she'd ever known. There's safety, there's security, there's love; all the things she'd felt early on with Sam, only better. So much better.

She kisses Norman again. Cups his face in her hands and deepens it, feels her heart speed up when his response is a moan. His arms tighten around her waist as he gives in to her heat. The need for sleep clouds up his brain, but her kiss injects new life. That is, until she pulls away and he's forced to observe her dark eyes and swollen lips. God, this woman would end him.

There are so many things he wants to say to her. He wants to tell her how much all this means to him; he wants to tell her how much he loves her, but the words won't come. The words he actually does say just tumble out of his mouth of their own accord.

"What is this?"

He wants her to define it for him. Saying the wrong thing would sink this ship faster and he wanted to avoid that at all costs. He couldn't lose her, not now, not ever.

She smiles at him and her eyes say more than her mouth ever could. "This is you and me." She says. "You and me having something that's just ours."

Her hands run along his shoulders. "It's good, right?"

He drops his forehead to her collarbone and breathes her in. Everything about her was intoxicating. Her fingers trail through his hair as he looks back up.

"Better than." He replies.

* * *

He stays quiet for a long time. There's nothing he can say to her that could alleviate the newfound tension between them. The apology didn't help, that much he knows. She can't do anything with his apology; words aren't tangible. He can't count on them to fill her empty spaces.

Still, he's at a loss. Touching her could scare her away in the aftermath of Keith Summers' sexual assault so he avoids doing anything at all. There's a body sinking to the bottom of a lake and his mother won't look at him. He never imagined that they could end up like this.

Sleep's impossible, but Norman heads to his room anyway. His heart still beats out of time, hurried and frantic. He watches long shadows dance along the ceiling, trying to push tonight's events far away.

* * *

She stands in the foyer long after he goes to his room. Her mind races in every direction until it's clear that she's stuck in a place that will eat her alive if she will let it. The easiest thing to do would be to forgive Norman and let this thing go. Except that she didn't necessarily want to. He'd gone off to some party with some girl instead of being here with her. Some girl who'd probably let him touch her; some girl who'd probably smiled at him and turned him into putty. Norma seethes. How dare him.

She grabs the bannister as the tears begin to fall. He's all she's thought about for days and he went and betrayed her. Now, all she can think about is him and that girl. Her footsteps echo heavy on the stairs. She needs something, anything from him. Anything that'll prove that he's still hers; that that girl doesn't matter.

* * *

He doesn't succeed in ridding himself of all of this because soon enough his bedroom door creaks open and his mother's standing there. She's dressed in a tank top and short shorts and Norman's breath catches. Her long legs are on full display; all he can think about is how they feel wrapped around his waist. The heat that pools under her skin when he strokes his fingers down her thigh. The way her muscles clench and tremble.

He closes his eyes. Her voice floats to him through the haze of his desire.

"Norman."

He opens his eyes slowly. She falls back into focus and everything hurts.

"What is it, Mother?"

Her steps toward him are hesitant. She seems determined, but she's also visibly frightened. Frightened of what, Norman couldn't guess. He sits up and moves to the edge of the bed, where he reaches his hand out to her. It's an invitation he's all too happy to send, though things between were less than stable. To his surprise, she comes to him, threading her fingers through his and situating herself between his open legs. He locks his free arm around her waist, staring up at her with an expression that's hard and soft in all the right places.

Three days ago, he had the thought that they could do this. They could make it last as long as they maintained the façade of normalcy to the outside world. Now, he knows that's not possible. In the aftermath of Keith's murder, eyes will be on them and Norman will have to protect her from every knowing glance. Normalcy will crumble under the weight of the secrets they share and so will their collective sanity. Norman knows this well and yet, he still drops his forehead to his mother's belly and grips her firm around the waist, seeking the comfort only she can give him.

She holds him there the way a mother should while everything inside her twists and bends and shatters.

"I need you." The words are heavier than stone as they land on Norman's shoulders. The weight bears down on his bones, creating needlepoint fissures that will only span outward with time. He doesn't raise his head. He can't bear to look at her.

She goes on. "I do. You're everything that means anything and I need you with me." Her fingertips tick along his jawline and force his head up. Her thumb rubs over his split lip, the wound she left in the rush of her fury. "Okay?" There's a threat laced within her words. He's intuitive enough to hear it. The venom on her breath falls into the space between them and burrows its way beneath his skin. He can feel it in his veins, eating away at his strength and all that's left of his resolve. If he's ever wanted to defeat her, it's far too late.

She's a brand on his skin, a voice in his ear, an ache in his heart. She's everything that means anything and her spell can't be undone.

"Okay, Mother." He replies. His tone is soft, resigned; the puppet to the puppeteer. Barely a moment passes before he's on his feet, right in her face. Her hands fall away from him as his glide down to her hips.

"Do you forgive me?" There's a question beneath his question. It's rooted in the newfound depth of their relationship. Did she still want him despite what he's done?

Her bright blue eyes shine with things unspoken. He doesn't know what's hiding there, can't begin to decipher the pregnant silence. Something like pain crosses her face and Norman can't help but gather her to him, pressing a kiss to her hair and hugging her close. She sobs into his chest, the sounds violent and heartbreaking. Guilt closes in on Norman, inching its way through his guts and up into his chest cavity. Once there, it fans out in every direction, burning red hot and sucking the oxygen from his lungs.

His only response to it is to tighten the hold he has on his mother until the sobs fade away.


	3. Chapter 3

The intrusion comes at nine o'clock on a Tuesday morning. Norman's already at school and Norma's barely half awake, bounding the stairs while simultaneously tying her robe shut. The knocks become insistent, close together and louder than hell.

The person she finds standing behind the door is the last on the list of people she'd actually want to see.

"Hey, Mom." He still wears that god-awful leather jacket and his blue eyes still stick out more than anything else. He's wider in the shoulders, but other than that, he's the same. The manifestation of all the crap in her life.

"Dylan." She can't imagine what he wants from her, but that doesn't stop her from stepping aside and letting him in. Too many things she longs to know about him weigh on her mind, not the least of which being how the hell he managed to find her.

His posture is confident, that's what she notices as she follows him to the kitchen. He seems sure and unscathed in spite of the shit hand life has dealt him. She doesn't know when he stopped being the scrawny kid who slumped his shoulders and hung his head, but she knows she'd have more control if he still was.

"Dylan." He falls into one of her kitchen chairs and throws her a cocky little smirk. "What are you doing here?"

He lets out a breath. "My job fell through. I need some money."

Exasperation stamps itself all over her. "Why here? Don't you have friends? What about your dad?"

"I went to him. He's living in a shack in Wyoming. He has even less than I do." He smiles at her again. This time, it's laced with deviousness. "And, besides, I figured that Sam's death afforded you quite the increase in income."

"Stop."

The coffee maker lets off a shrill beep. Norma glances over her shoulder at it, as if marking it for death. Then, she looks back at her oldest son. Her frustration falls further to pieces the longer she observes the dark bags beneath his eyes.

"Do you want some coffee?"

Dylan nods.

"Three sugars right?"

To her dismay, she still remembers every tiny detail of who he is.

"Yeah. Thanks, Mom." It remains just on this side of vindictive, but there's something transparent about it.

* * *

Sometimes, he wonders what it'd be like if someone else were his mother. Someone kind hearted and loving; someone who smiled at him all the time and wished him true happiness. He wonders if he'd still end up face to face with Norma Bates in this scenario. If fate had decided that their souls would collide no matter what the circumstances. It'd be different, but somehow he thinks it'd still be the same. There'd still be love and there'd still be darkness and it'd still be impossible to discern the two.

"You have to focus on the power of words. How a certain combination can break your heart or leave you breathless." Miss Watson's voice invades Norman's thoughts. She's walking through the aisles with her heels clicking and her fingers tapping on the edges of every desk. Norman's eyes follow her intently, his thoughts of his mother running headlong into his appreciation for Miss Watson's figure.

He swallows.

"That's what poetry's all about. Emotion. Reaching down and pulling out something that affects other people." She goes on and Norman dials in on her voice, the way it's hard around the edges and sweet in the center. It's so much like his mother's.

"Describing things that are universal. Things like love."

Love. Was what he and his mother had love? And if so, was it doomed the way he feared it was?

* * *

Two days. Two days since Keith Summers has turned up anywhere in town. Two days and Romero knows that it's necessary. This is an official investigation into a disappearance now. He doesn't know what Keith could've possibly gotten himself into now. There were many things Sheriff Romero knew about his old friend Keith, many things Keith thought he'd hidden well. He knew that the motel and the house had been foreclosed on and it only took a bit of research to find out that it'd also been sold.

It'd been sold to Norma Louise Bates and Romero knew in his guts that she held the answer to his question. If he wanted to find Keith, the best place to start would be his former residence. It wasn't rocket science, just intuition. Romero's old friend Keith was a time bomb, always had been. It's possible he finally ended up in over his head.

Whatever the secret behind all this was, Romero was going to find out.

* * *

She sends Dylan to the store to pick up the new linens for the motel rooms. She needs the peace, craves it like nothing else. And, yet, in the silence, her mind wanders to Norman. His hands, his kiss, his smile. Her body tingles. God help her, this wasn't the right thing to be doing.

She drops her head into her hands just as Norman's key hits the lock. Her body straightens up. The door opens and he's there with that world ending smile. She knows she has to break the news sooner rather than later.

"Mother." He sits beside her.

"Norman." His lips skim her neck in a way that dares her to stop him. Norma doesn't even move her hands from her sides, doesn't even attempt to touch him. If she touched him, she'd end up on her back on these stairs, looking up at him sporting a hoarse voice and a begging body.

"Norman, Dylan showed up today."

He stops what he's doing. "He's here now?"

"He's out picking up the new linens, but yes, he's here."

"What for?"

"He wants money. As soon as I find him some, he'll be gone."

"Mom…"

She pulls away from him completely and stands up. "It's already done."

Norman's on his feet, too, and he's far from happy. "What's going on here?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I said I was sorry about what happened. How long are you…"

"It's not about that! It's about _this._" She gestures between them. It's this arrangement, this thing they're doing that's eating her alive. "We can't do this with Dylan here, don't you get that?!"

That was the worst part. They couldn't ever truly be together without living in fear. It wasn't about Keith Summers. It was about them. She wanted Norman, all of him, and she couldn't have him. She loved him despite his betrayal and she would love him despite every betrayal he would ever commit. This wasn't about that.

Norman's eyes narrow. Then, he turns and goes out the front door. He leaves her standing there, staring after him. It takes a full minute for her body to react. That's when she starts running.

"Norman!"

She's chasing him down the stone steps when Dylan pulls up. He slams the car door. The sound echoes off the emptiness surrounding them.

"What the hell's going on?"

Norman doesn't even spare his older brother a glance as he heads in the direction from which Dylan came; the one that'll lead him right into town.

Norma stops dead when she reaches Dylan, though she continues to scream after Norman's retreating figure. Dylan waits the countless minutes it takes for her to calm down before he opens his mouth.

"Norma. What's going on?"

"It's none of your damn business."


	4. Chapter 4

He comes home to her in the dead of night. There's the slightest knock on her bedroom door followed by the slightest creaking sound as he pushes it open. She's in bed with her back to him, but he knows she's not sleeping. Not without him here.

"Mother." The mattress indents under his weight. He reaches out to her, brushing his fingertips on her shoulder. The touch is slight, but he has everything to lose behind it.

"Mother." It's the ache in his voice that makes her roll over to face him. She doesn't say a word; she just opens her arms and lets him collapse into her embrace. He falls asleep curled into her side, exactly the way he used to when he'd have nightmares as a kid.

* * *

The sun's peeking through the curtains two hours later and Norman's hesitant to awake. He can hear her moving around toward the edge of the bed. Her scent still lingers in the air nearest him and he basks for a second or two before he finally opens his eyes. She's sitting with her legs over the side of the bed, pulling her nightshirt over her head. Soon, all Norman can see is bare skin, the slope of her back, the lines of her hips. His fingers find that landscape of their own accord and he can feel the shiver that quakes her to the core. He grows bolder at her reaction, skating his touch up to her shoulders. She turns her head to the side.

"Norman…" Her tone of voice tells him to stop, but he doesn't want to. Instead, he sits up halfway and moves closer, letting his grip settle on her left shoulder. He's on his knees behind her before long, bending down so he can trail his lips along the skin at her neck.

"Honey."

"What?" He keeps going and his hands somehow end up running over her hips.

She bends back toward him, knotting her fingers in his hair so she can pull his mouth to hers. Norman moans and Norma has a difficult time maintaining her resolve. She reluctantly ends the kiss.

"We don't have time for this right now."

"Later?"

A mischievous little smirk is the only answer she gives.

* * *

There are walls Norma Bates has built around herself. Steel walls built up to the sky designed to protect her from anything and everything. But, the steel isn't strong enough. It's bending and inverting and pressing in on her. She's helpless to fight the weight that sits on her shoulders, the stress of having to lie and maintain a fragile façade.

So, when the sheriff knocks on her door at one in the afternoon, it's hard to keep herself in check and not trip over the words she can't say.

"Mrs. Bates." He's dark haired and dark eyed with an air of authority that chills her to the core. Even worse, he isn't alone. There's a younger man with him, dressed in the same beige police uniform, blonde haired, blue eyed and clearly interested in her.

She smiles at him, avoiding the sheriff completely. The younger man steps forward.

"Uh, m'am, I'm Deputy Zach Shelby. This is Sheriff Alex Romero. We just want to ask you a couple of questions."

Her eyes stay on him. He's cute and clearly a bit naïve. She could twist him to her will. Men were easy. Always too damn easy.

"Mrs. Bates, Keith Summers has gone missing." It's the sheriff again, breaking into her headspace.

"Who?"

"Keith Summers. The man who owned this property before you. Have you ever met him? Did he ever come by here?"

Her lips quirk up in a disbelieving half-smile. "No, of course not."

"Really? Because we have a witness who says they saw you talking to Keith Summers right out here on your front porch and that it looked a little heated."

She gives the Deputy a long look. It's seductive and welcoming, but there's something sinister about it. He returns a secretive little smile and she knows she's winning.

"Mrs. Bates, do you mind if we take a look around?" He sounds irked. Good.

"Actually, yes, I do. I think you need a warrant for something like that."

The sheriff takes two steps toward her. His eyes are aflame. "Don't test me, Mrs. Bates. You don't want to be on my bad side."

She has to resist the urge to roll her eyes. "Good afternoon, sheriff." Her gaze scans over the Deputy one last time. "Bye."

They don't even the time to reply before she slams the door in their faces.

* * *

Bradley finds him at school. It's the end of the day and he's standing at his locker, packing up the books he needs for his homework. He doubts he'll actually be able to do it because all he can think about is Norma laying back on his bed, naked and waiting for him.

"Norman." He turns toward the voice to see Bradley. The smile on her face stops him cold. She's really beautiful, all bright green eyes and long blonde hair.

"Hey." He hopes he doesn't seem too distracted.

"Why did you leave the party so early? Did you hook up with someone?"

His heart stutters. He sees nothing but Norma behind his eyes, except now she's struggling against Keith Summers' onslaught. He breathes out shakily, and then he lets out a nervous chuckle.

"I wish I could tell you yes, but I just got my history book out of your car and went home."

She laughs now and it's warm and inviting. "And you probably studied. Good for you."

There's a pause, the slightest of hesitating silences.

"Hey, do you want to actually study together sometime? I could use the help."

He nods. "Sure."

* * *

He gets home twenty minutes later than he said he would. She hates it when he's late, she always has, so he walks in with his head bowed, ready for the scolding. It never comes. Instead, he finds her in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter wearing one of her thousand watt smiles.

He's within her reach almost immediately and she takes advantage of it by grabbing him at his hips and tugging him to her. Their lower bodies collide and Norman sucks in a breath.

"You're late." Her fingers start undoing the buttons on his shirt, but her voice is stern instead of lustful.

"I'm sorry." His shirt's open and her hands are steady along his waist, her fingers dipping under his t-shirt, creating goose bumps on his flesh. "Wait."

"What is it?"

His touch is feather light on her neck and her face. "I'm sorry for all of this. I don't know what I was thinking that night, but now I'm thinking that all I want is what's happening between us. I want to take care of you; I want us to be okay. Tell me we're going to be okay."

She pushes his button down shirt from his shoulders, watches it flutter to the floor. There's silence all around them.

"Mother." It's pleading, desperate. The effect she has on him never seizes to amaze her. She's all he wanted in the entire world and she'd be lying if she said she didn't want him just as bad. The truth is, she wants everything from him and she's powerless to fight it.

She lifts her eyes slowly, taking in his stature and his physique. He's skinny, but there's something so deceptively strong about him. He's so capable, far more capable than she'd been at his age. He's wise beyond his years and she knows that comes from all the damage that lurks beneath his skin. Damaged, just like her.

The softest, saddest smile paints itself on her face. "We're going to be fine. We'll make it through this, just like we've made it through everything else. There's only you and me. It'll always be you and me." She figures she doesn't have to tell him about the nosy sheriff just yet. Not when they're standing this close and Norman's hands are heading south.

He kisses her, soft and sweet.

"I've missed you." The words hit her in the teeth.

"I've been right here." Right up against his mouth.

He chuckles and the sound hits her in the back of the throat. "You know what I mean."

Her response is another kiss, deeper than before.

When she pulls away again, her breathing is shallow.

"Upstairs. Take me upstairs."

* * *

Hours go by and the sun sets beyond Norma's bedroom window, but for them, all the world stands still. It's peaceful here in her bed and Norma can't help but bask in it. She stares down at him, taking him in. His hair sticks out in a million directions thanks to the insistence of her hands and her pink lipstick is smeared all over his mouth. There's a deep purple mark just beneath his collarbone that she left in the rush of a moment.

He's so damn beautiful right now, branded by her love. Her thumb strokes at his cheekbone and her mouth twists up in a loving smile.

"I think I'd go crazy without you."

"Yeah?" His arms tighten around her waist.

"Yeah."

The greatest man she's ever known is the man she raised. A man who touches her like she's the greatest gift he'll ever receive; who kisses her with the slightest hint of uncertainty; who loves her irrevocably and without question. There are other things about him-terrible things-but they don't change her view. The boy with the clear blue eyes who looks on her with wonderment is all that matters.

"I'm in love with you."

His whole face lights up. She can see the disbelief, the briefest thought that maybe she's just leading him on. But the smallest of seconds passes before his hands are cupping her face, his fingers running a lazy trail through her hair. She drops her face to his neck, feels his lips press gently to her cheek. It'd be so easy to lose herself here in the tight circle of his arms. His body's warm and his even breathing soothes her. When he speaks, his voice is a low rumble beside her ear.

"Me, too."

He doesn't have to say it back because it's all over him. In his disheveled but satiated appearance, in those faint red scars that line his shoulder blades, in that little smile that quirks his lips and cuts her open.

* * *

Dylan meets Ethan at a local strip club. It's two AM and he hasn't been home, doesn't even stop to think if Norma might be waiting up for him. Well, not for him, but for her stupid bed linens. Regardless, he's twenty one and he doesn't care what she thinks of him anymore. There was a time when he'd give anything for her, but that time has shriveled up and died. So, he's here letting his eyes dance over a topless blonde with big tits. It's when his gaze strays for a second that he finds Ethan, sitting a few feet away, counting out a stack of money that stands miles high. Dylan's not ashamed to admit that his mouth could've very well have been watering.

"Holy shit, man. Where do you make dough like that in this town?"

The other man looks at him and smiles. "All over the place."


	5. Chapter 5

Dylan stumbles in at five thirty in the morning, half-drunk and half-asleep. The house is quiet and Dylan's thankful because the last thing he wants is Norma's screechy scolding.

He drops the bed linen packages on the kitchen table, moving toward the refrigerator to get another beer. He thinks about Ethan's job proposition and smiles. Three hundred bucks a day. Christ.

A noise from upstairs startles him. Hurried footsteps and a muffled girlish giggle. It had to be Norma, but Dylan has never known her to sound like that. He leaves the kitchen and stands still at the bottom of the stairs. Norman's going back to his bedroom. Dylan doesn't know what that means and he isn't sure he wants to.

"Norman." His little brother turns, looking like he's gotten caught committing a crime.

"Hey, Dylan."

"Is everything all right?"

Norman nods. "Of course."

Dylan wants to talk to Norma suddenly. There's something strange going on.

"Well, good night, Dylan."

All he can offer is a tight little grin. He's never learned to be kind to the Golden Boy.

"Night."

He watches until Norman disappears into his room then he heads for Norma. Her door's slightly cracked, but he knocks anyway.

"Come in."

"Hey, I got your linens."

She's annoyed; he can tell by the way her nostrils flare. She's also wearing nothing but her sky blue robe, wrapped tight. Her nipples strain against the fabric and Dylan can't stop the strange rush of thoughts that cloud up his mind. Norma and Norman in here together…

He shakes his head. That was a bad road to go down.

"Dylan." Norma's voice is hard and he meets her gaze. She crosses her arms over chest. If it's in indignation or embarrassment, Dylan can't be sure. "You can't be coming home in the middle of the night like this. Norman and I are trying to build a life here. I won't have you screwing it up."

He wants to say that he isn't ever the one who screws everything up, but his mouth won't form the words. In their place is a self-assured cocky smirk.

"Yeah. It sure is a nice town you picked here, Norma. An old ass house and a dumpy motel. You sure are living the dream." His gaze drops to his shoes. For a moment, the façade slips. His voice carries resignation. "I grew up in a house with you. I remember what it's like." He'll never forget it. That nothingness, that idea that he'll never quite measure up, that chip he carries on his shoulder, heavy and unbearable. "It's always been about what you try to do for Norman."

"Norman's a good boy. He's a good son." There's something about the way she says it. Something that screams 'better than you'll ever be.'

It cuts through Dylan like a blade, so he cuts back. "I'm sorry if I was a little annoyed with you after you drove my dad away by skanking around with Norman's father."

"I wasn't skanking around. It wasn't my fault. I was seventeen when I met your father. I had no idea what I was doing." She still thinks about John sometimes. The boy with pale lips and hazel eyes. Nineteen, built tall and wide. She hasn't seen him in years, but the longer she looks at Dylan, the more of John she sees. A hell raiser through and through. The perfect scapegoat for her shit decisions, so willing to take her emotional beating as long as it meant getting something from her. Too bad she was never willing to give. She looks at Dylan and finds her own eyes looking back at her. She's in him, too, in the slump of his shoulders and the defeat on his face. He's a fighter; a survivor. He'll give every punch and take twice as many and somehow remain on his feet. Her perfect scapegoat.

She sighs. "I met Sam and I fell in love."

"Really? How'd that work out for you?"

Searing, black hatred courses through her. It's sharp and it's immediate and if she closes her eyes and wishes, she can make it all about Dylan. If she spits it in his direction, she'll never have to admit that the only person she hates is herself.

"I hate you. I hate you. You've never shown me an ounce of kindness."

It hurts-fuck does it-and Dylan nearly stumbles backward when it hits him like a freight train. He's burning alive in her fire and he can't breathe. Still he fights back.

"I'm sorry. It was a little bit hard to get in on the tea party with you and Norman."

That pain is always there, deep inside him, burrowed in his guts, squeezing tight on the mask of apathy he's learned to wear so well. She has the starring role in every single one of his nightmares, but she's also a star in his brightest dreams.

"What are you talking about? What tea party?! He loves me." She stops to gather herself. Norman is her entire world; Dylan is her scapegoat. "He loves me. That's all. It's what mothers and sons are supposed to do. It's not supposed to be like this." She gestures between the two of them. He's supposed to love her; he should've just fucking loved her.

He licks his lips. "You think it's normal, Norma? What you're doing to him? You think it's okay?"

She recoils. "What?"

"He'll wake up one day and he'll understand. He'll see it and he'll hate you for it. It happened for me; it'll happen for him." With two strides, he's right up in her face. "Just wait." He smiles at her, satisfied that her eyes have widened and her hands are trembling. Fear, cold and dark, creeps up her spine.

"Good night, Norma."

He leaves her alone to drown in his words. Would Norman ever grow to hate her the way Dylan has? Did he hate her already? She shuts her eyes to the pain and a tear slips down her cheek. No, he didn't. He loves her. She sees it in his eyes every time he looks at her. He loves her.

He has to.

* * *

The next morning is rough. Norma wanders through a mental fog while she cooks breakfast. It's so early the sun is barely over the horizon, but she can't sleep. Can't sleep with Dylan's words ringing in her ears; can't sleep because sleep brings the nightmares that only Norman can quell.

"Mother."

She looks up and he's there, watching her wearily. Sleep still hangs over his eyes, but he comes to her anyway.

Dylan's warning plays over and over and over.

"Norman, what're you doing?"

"I heard you get up. I thought maybe there was something wrong." She cups his cheek. He's here. He's here, but for how long?

"Everything's fine." The eggs sizzle in the pan and she turns away from him to shut off the stove.

His fingers graze her hip. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

She kisses him on the lips just once. In those few precious seconds, she tries to convey what's eating at her. He can't leave her. He can't hate her. He has to love her.

He kisses her back with a slight pressure that isn't even near enough. Her heart clenches, but she paints on a smile.

"Come on. Let's eat."

* * *

Norma leaves the house long before Dylan comes downstairs. She can't see him. She doesn't have time for him. There are other things she has to do to ensure her own security and if she focuses on that, then she can forget her fears. Control is just within reach.

She finds him in town at the local coffee shop. He's sitting at the counter with his back to her and she's bold enough to walk right up. She taps him the shoulder and his eyes shoot up, genuinely surprised.

"Mrs. Bates."

"Hi. Can we talk?"

* * *

Miss Watson keeps him after class. She's smiling, big and bright, but Norman's transfixed by her red dress and the way it clings to her curves. Sinful crimson. He knows Norma wouldn't approve of these thoughts, so he pushes them to the side where they continue to cry out in lustful abandon.

"I was taking a look at your records. Your test scores are off the charts." Disappointment darkens her pretty features. "But your grades don't match up. Why do you think that is?"

It's an easy answer: his mother. His mother and her impulsiveness. Her refusal to let the world keep her down on the ground. Love for her swells inside him. She's fierce and she's noble and she's all his.

He gives Miss Watson an indifferent shrug. "We move a lot."

"I see that. Five different schools. Is everything okay at home?"

Long legs tight around him. A helpless whimper of his name when she falls apart. Yeah, everything was certainly fine at home. Except for Dylan's presence and the ghost of Keith Summers roaming the halls.

"Oh, yeah. My mom's just a little…impulsive." And that was putting it lightly.

Miss Watson drops her pen into his open records folder and scribbles something down.

He can see what she's thinking; it tears at his fragile seams.

"You know, now that you're here and doing well, maybe you should try and put down some roots. Try out for a sports team or join a club."

His thoughts scatter in a million directions, but one word flashes behind his eyes as a red neon sign: NO. That wasn't something his mother would allow.

"I don't know." He says.

"Well, you should definitely think about it." The folder falls shut. Her face becomes somber. "I see that you lost your dad recently. I want you to know that I'm here for you if you ever need to talk." She reaches for his hand, sitting limply in the center of his desk. Her fingers wrap tight. His whole body stiffens. His mother wouldn't like this, but Norman can't move. Miss Watson lets go and returns to the folder. She scribbles something, then tears off a manila corner. "Here's my personal number. Please don't hesitant to call."

* * *

"Norman's a good boy and he's been through so much. I want to do right by him; I want him to be happy." _I want to make him happy. Keep him happy with me. Stay forever. Don't go. _

Shelby nods. "Of course. I understand that." Really, he doesn't. He and his mother hadn't been close. He never wishes they had been. That stupid cunt.

"And let's just say that that gets compromised when Sheriff Hound Dog comes sniffing around my property searching for evidence that doesn't exist."

"Romero's a high strung guy, no doubt, but you have to look at it from his point of view. Him and Keith were childhood pals; spent a whole shitload of time together. Keith was buried deep in a lot of crap that could've gotten him killed. Romero's just looking at every possible angle. It's his job." He smiles warm at her and something inside her stretches out toward him. "I wouldn't take it personally."

Norma lightens up. "It's difficult." She feels like she's being attacked. And it isn't the most uncommon feeling for her. She studies this man for a moment. His shining blue eyes, his tuft of blonde hair, his tanned skin. He makes her feel better, open somehow. It's nowhere near what Norman makes her feel, but it's something other than fear.

He sips at his coffee with his brows furrowed. It seems he's making some big decision. He puts the mug back down; it hits with a clank. "Listen, there's this little gathering in town tonight. Annual community thing. It's a lot fun and since you're new in town, I thought I could, you know, show you around." No wasted time. No beating around the proverbial bush. Norma grins like a little girl.

Control. All she needed was control and she could kiss this man for handing it over to her. "Sure. That sounds good." The thought of what she'll tell Norman crosses her mind. It won't be easy, but she can't let it get to her right now.

"I mean, I couldn't take you, because of the whole Keith Summers of it all, but you're going and I'm going…"

Norma bursts out laughing.

* * *

When she finally gets back home, he's already there, sitting on the couch doing his homework. There's innocence to the sight that slices through her. She goes to him, quiet as silk, and runs her index finger over the back of his shoulders.

"Honey." Her voice floats above him, ethereal.

"Hey." He glances up at her for a moment, then returns to his work.

"Is Dylan here?"

"Upstairs."

She sits beside him. Her eyes dance over his form, once, twice, three times over. Fear clogs up her windpipe. "Norman."

The alarm in her voice causes him to finally raise his eyes. "What's wrong?"

"I'm meeting Deputy Shelby in town." Nothing shows on him. His expression doesn't change; his limbs don't move. He just stares at her unflinching.

"Why?" Bleak, severe, emotionless.

"Because the Sheriff's poking around, Norman. I'd like to stay out of prison."

That's the first time she's actually uttered the word 'prison.' It's easy to forget that she's a killer now. The fact still remained that they'd scrubbed away all the evidence. Hadn't they?

"Deputy Shelby seems to like us so I'm going on a good will mission. There's some kind of community event happening in town."

"Good will mission?" He's worried that she'll see something in that Deputy. But, perhaps even more worried that the Deputy will see something in her…and take it.

"I promise it's okay, Norman. I won't be out long. Besides, I have no interest in him." She tries to stay as neutral as possible, but she knows she's lying. That Deputy ignited something in her and she couldn't help how grateful she was. He could give her something else; something that wasn't this sinful secret she couldn't ever be truly happy about. Norman is everything and that's exactly what he shouldn't be.

He leans over toward her and kisses her lips. Gentle, exquisite pressure that stirs up her divided emotions. He ends it, but stays close, inches from her mouth.

"Are you sure?"

She kisses him again. "Yes." _Don't go. Stay forever. _ "I have no interest in him. I want you." It's a half-truth. She does want him, far more than she'd ever care to admit.

"You have me."

And she certainly does have him, for better or for worse.

* * *

He hears the seconds ticking away. Long, desperate, blaring chimes that drown his thoughts. The seconds she isn't with him. The seconds she's with some blonde haired blue eyed baby faced cop instead. He tells himself that he isn't jealous-there's nothing to be jealous about-but he can't stop. It's a green monster sitting on his back, breathing heavy in his ear. The idea of that Deputy touching her…Norman could puke. He can't eat either. He just pushes his food around his plate until Dylan's footsteps alert him to the continued turning of the outside world.

"Hey."

Norman only affords him a second's glance. "Hey."

"You all right?" He puts his cell phone down face up on the table and heads for the fridge. A string of curses erupts under his breath. They're out of beer again.

"I'm fine." Norman replies.

The cell phone vibrates, shaking and lighting up bright in notification. White letters spell out 'The Whore.' Norman's blood flow slows to a crawl as Dylan reaches for it and hits accept.

"Hi, Norma." Norman's entire body catches fire. He's on his feet, glowering at Dylan's back as his older brother breezes through minimal conversation. The word pounds behind Norman's eyes. Whore. She's not a whore. She's everything. She's not perfect, but she's all he has and he has to…

"Don't you ever call her a whore." He advances on Dylan, his voice dark, his motivation even darker. He grabs Dylan around the shoulders, not even thinking that his older brother outweighs him by a good seventy five pounds. The phone clatters to the floor, bouncing off linoleum and sliding away. He peels Norman's arm away with brute strength and shoves him hard. There's a sickening thud when his little brother stumbles backward onto the floor.

"What the hell are you doing?" Dylan's voice caves in around the edges, shaky with all the things he's worked so hard to forget. Sam Bates and his bottle. Norma's cruel indifference. If he tries hard enough, he can make it all about Norman and that hurts him the most. The little brother he was supposed to protect was the one person he hated with everything he was. Every fiber, every pore, every nerve. The shithole that was his life was Norman's fault. Dylan is the kind of person who has to pass the blame. If he doesn't, then he has to own the self-loathing and he sure as shit can't do that.

"You're a joke, Norman. You let that bitch run you like a puppet."

He swallows hard and remembers. Norma's love for him (it had only seemed to be endless) shriveling in the bright light of Norman's existence.

Norman struggles to his feet. "She doesn't run me." Didn't. Never could. She loved him. Wanted the entire world for him. Would lay it at his feet if he asked. "She cares about me."

Dylan scoffs. "Don't you fucking get it? She's insane. She'd fuck over anybody to get what she wants. Even you."

He thinks about the Deputy again. Would she throw Norman over for something easier? A relationship she wouldn't have to hide? The anger drains out of him. At least, the anger he felt toward Dylan. Inadequacy takes it place. She wouldn't do that to him.

She couldn't.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: So, I'm going to call this the departure chapter. It's made up entirely of flashbacks designed to build up the backstory before the shit hits the fan in the coming chapters. Hope you like it cause I ended up being fond of this by the end.

* * *

**'The Slow-Killing Kind' **

The stove's still on. There's a single pot sitting on the front burner; boiling water tips over the edge and puddles on the kitchen tile. To the left, the iron continues to burn, puffing out hot bursts of vapor. The floral pattern ironing board points in the direction of the T.V. playing the baseball game. A slow thrum of applause bursts from the speakers.

From the hallway, there's a heavy thud. Norman hitting the far wall, disoriented, disheveled, unaware of where he is. The picture he dislodged from the wall falls into his hands. His mother and father on their wedding day, smiling big at the camera, their hands entwined. Something goes off in Norman's head. A distant alarm that sends chills up and down his skin.

"Mom?" It tumbles from his mouth high strung and trembling. His fingers loosen on the picture and it drops to the floor, sending shattered glass in every direction. It's a strange sight now, that picture. His mother and father, separated by shards of glass. Those smiles look fake now as the true horror has revealed itself.

Norman stumbles into the empty living room, past the iron and the overrunning pot and the baseball game. A mighty crack sounds out as the bat hits the ball followed by further applause. Norman's feet pick up speed and he bulldozes into his parent's bedroom.

"Mom?!" Frantic, broken. The bedroom's empty, too, so he decides to check the only other place his father could be: the garage.

He came down regularly, when Norma became too much for him. Norman had learned to leave him be when he was in these states of isolation, but something was crawling and creeping and tapping sinisterly at him. Wrong.

His father's here, sprawled on the floor, crushed beneath a wall unit designed to hold tools and paint cans and whatever else his father felt like storing. Blood pools beneath his head and Norman's breath freezes in his lungs.

"Dad?" Choked, tear-filled.

* * *

"Your mother is poison. The slow-killing kind." He nods slow at Norman, lets a delicate smile settle on his lips. "One day she tells you she wants you; the next day she's ripping you apart."

The boy-just on the edge of his tenth birthday-stares hard at his father. "Dad?"

"She doesn't care, Norman. Not about anyone or anything. Just herself. Just those fucking clothes she buys. Nothing else. Not you, not me, not that fucking brat Dylan. Nobody."

Those words fall onto the young boy, hard, like bricks. His mother loved him and he loved her, more than anything. If she didn't love Daddy or Dylan, that was one thing, but she loved him. She told him every day.

"That's not true." He doesn't sound sure. His voice is shaky and his eyes have dropped to his lap. "She loves me."

His father lets out a belly laugh. "And one day, she'll take everything from you and never look back. And you'll be left standing there, wondering what you ever saw in her in the first place." He rubs his hand over his face, keeps his fingers poised at the edge of his lips. Energy drains out of him in visible waves.

"She's poison. The slow-killing kind."

* * *

Dylan's fourteen the first time he comes home drunk. Tequila from some old fart's liquor cabinet. He doesn't remember the house he broke into, can only remember running as fast as his feet would carry him, sneakers thumping on the asphalt. His heart still pounds in his ears, but the buzz from the alcohol is nice. It gathers around the edges of his mind in the form of a pleasant haze that numbs everything else.

He dumped the bottle somewhere-can't remember where. He rakes his brain hard for a moment before he realizes that there's a single light on in the living room. Shit.

"Dylan. Get in here."

His footsteps are clumsy and his vision is folding in on itself, but he manages to get to her. She's sitting in Sam's La-Z Boy, wearing her patented displeased expression. Sloped eyes and a downturned mouth.

"Hey." He nearly keels over when he tries to give her a cocky smirk.

"What the hell are you doing? You've been out all night…" She stands up and crosses the room so she's as close as possible. The tequila dances and lingers in the air between them. "And you're drunk."

He chuckles. "Maybe a little."

Norma's insides twist and bend into a painful mass of failure. This is how it was going to be. Her oldest son would slip away from her, fall right through her fingers like grains of sand. She swallows. He's already gone, she's already lost him. She was like him once. A teenager with a fractured family that seemed impossible to escape. Until that day you woke up and realized that there were no bars on the windows or chains around your wrists. You were always free; you just didn't have the courage to see it.

She studies Dylan. Such a scrawny kid trying to be something he isn't. A tough guy, a man's man, someone no one would ever dream of messing with. Sam's brand of punishment had instilled that, she knows. Guilt locks tight around her heart.

"You're grounded." She says, stern as she can.

He ducks his head, but that probably wasn't the right gesture in his inebriated state. A sickly green blooms under his skin and he vomits all over her designer rug.

"Dylan! God." She kneels to his level and runs her hand down his back. "This is what you get." His whole body shudders. "All right. All right. Calm down. It'll pass." They both stay still for countless minutes, Norma's fingers passing through his cropped blonde hair and over the back of his neck. She can't remember the last time she actually touched him, but he feels like a stranger. Looks like one, too, bent over with that green pallor, dry heaving.

"Stand up. Easy." She helps him to his feet, steadying him with a mother's touch. "Go brush your teeth and go to bed. Please."

He doesn't say another word as he leaves her alone to attend to her ruined carpet. The futile cleaning routine does nothing except allow her thoughts to wander. Dylan was going to leave her; it was just a matter of when.

* * *

Norman's easy. Soft and caring and unflinching. He never questions her, never spends a moment doubting her or her motivations. Doesn't scream at her or insult her or hate her. Norman loves her and Norma clings.

He turns four and it gets deeper. She lets him into her room when Sam's incapacitated in his chair. The baseball games always do a great job of lulling him to sleep. She leads Norman by the hand and tucks him into Sam's side of the bed before moving to her side and flipping through channels on the T.V.

It's the first time they watch 'Jane Eyre' and she can still recall his flurry of questions.

"Does she love him, mommy?" "Does he love her?" This, that, every shining, tiny detail and Norma's happiness inflates to levels it hasn't hit in years. She pulls him under her arm and kisses his dark hair.

Orson Welles' voice fills in the silence.

"It's like there's a cord between our hearts."

* * *

The relationship with Sam starts to crumble weeks after Norman's born. Sam gets frustrated often, goes out to smoke often, doesn't come back till four in the morning often. The charisma she fell in love with dissolves into darkness. She watches the life drain out of him, sink his eyes and his smile and his skin. He takes it out on Dylan the most because Dylan makes it his job to cause trouble in their collapsing family unit. The rebel without a cause pressed into the living room rug with Sam's hand tight on the back of his neck. His knee sits cozy on Dylan's lower back, digging in deep, unforgiving.

Those scenes are the kind Norma stands by and observes. Tears fall silently, dripping off her chin. Her hands clench into fists that she doesn't dare put to use. She's always hated feeling this helpless. It claws at her skin, burrows through her sinews and rips through her nerve endings. Numbness follows. Dylan takes it without a sound and Norma could almost commend him. That is, if she weren't so convinced he's wearing the same mask she's wearing in this second. Neither would give up their fragile control.

* * *

The years only bring her and Norman closer together. She finds the smallest ways to touch him, a finger over his shoulders, a hand on his knee under the dinner table. Anything that reminds her that he's there, warm and steady. The look on his face is always the best part of those instances: his eyes shine bright and the corners of his mouth turn up. It made her feelings for him gather in her chest and grab at her, indiscernible and immense.

God, she loved him and she always wanted him to know. The one constant stable presence in her life. The one person who needed her. The one person who loved her with a ferocity that couldn't be matched.

* * *

She doesn't know when she stopped being there for Dylan. She can't possibly discern the precise second. Maybe it was that night he told he hated her for the first time. She doesn't know when her first child became another on a long list of failures. She remembers loving him fiercely in those early years. The years with John. Had it been two or three? Either way, Dylan had loved her then. Clung to her leg and smiled at her and called her 'mommy.' People grow apart. It happens. And as she'd grown apart from John, she'd grown apart from Dylan. Then Sam happened. Then Norman. And there was never a chance again that Dylan could love her the way he used to.

She can't possibly discern the exact moment he stopped loving her, but she knows it's her fault.

Dylan runs for the hills when he turns eighteen. He leaves with a friend, doesn't even bother to say goodbye. She wakes up one morning and he's gone along with a single suitcase and what had only been a handful of clothes. She tells herself over and over that it doesn't matter. Dylan's a strong kid; he could handle himself well. He was a survivor, like her. And, yet, something inside her cries out for him. A hole in her heart excreting drops of blood. Right now, standing in the middle of his empty room, it's him she loves, wholly and without question. Her failure. Her scapegoat. The son who hated her.

She misses him immediately. He leaves behind a void in her life that she can't fill with anything else.

Not even Norman.

* * *

She learns something about Norman. Something that frightens her beyond anything else. There's a beast inside him. A beast that awoke and bludgeoned his father to death. One second she was locked tight in Sam's grip. Hand on the back the neck, thumb pressing to the artery. A second later, the grip fell away and Sam crumbled to the ground. Blood crawled slowly outward from his head. Norman stood above him, armed with a hammer from a kitchen drawer. But, it wasn't Norman. It was somebody else. A hollow eyed, emotionless monster inhabiting her son's body. She remembers touching him, his collarbone, his wrists. Nothing gained a response.

She always hated feeling so helpless. It gnawed at her bones and weakened her from the inside out. Her heart took over for her mind and she protected him, staged an accident that could've taken her husband's life. Nearly kills herself when she pulls down the heaviest wall unit in the garage. Bones crack on impact and Norma holds back a shiver. Norman falls out of his trance and into a deep sleep in his bedroom. It's nearly an hour later that he practically tears down the bathroom door in his search for her.

His voice shakes and cracks and bends. "It's dad. Hurry."

She follows him, comforts him, loves him through the horror of his father's death.

Norman needs her and Norma clings. He's all she has left in the entire world.

* * *

There are other secrets she keeps. Secrets about her childhood. There are lies she weaves and cultivates. She's never been the best liar, but there are some she's told so many times that they've stopped feeling like lies. Those are the lies she wishes were the truth. She buries her real truth deep down where no one can find it. She builds walls. Too many and still not enough. Her fortress is her own. She can't afford to show her weakness. Her vulnerability had cost her too much already. She wouldn't crack again. She'd stay in control for Norman's sake.

She had to.

* * *

"She's poison. The slow-killing kind." Sam's eyes track over his son's face. He's young and he's naïve. He doesn't understand the truth of what his mother is. A deceiver, a user. She took the time to drain you of your life before she laughed in your face. Love held no water with her. It never had.

"What does that mean, dad?"

Sam turns his gaze back to the baseball game. The batter strikes out. "She'll ruin you." He licks his lips in a slow, deliberate motion while everything inside him locks up. "It's just a matter of when."


	7. Chapter 7

He falls asleep in her bed, clutching her pillow tight to his chest. It's childlike and Norma can feel her heart twist in unholy directions as she watches him. She does this a lot-observes him while he sleeps-but something's different tonight. He's peaceful. Usually, he's restless, tossing, turning, pulling away from her and stealing the covers.

Tonight, all of him sleeps and Norma doesn't know why that thought hurts her so fucking much.

She walks to the edge of the bed and reaches out to him. Her hand skims down his side, halts in a position that's dangerously low. For a fleeting second, she thinks about grabbing him between his legs, but her whole body rebels. Shame turns her stomach.

"Norman."

He's so small under her hands. "Norman." She shakes him and finally, his eyelids flutter.

"Mother?" His blue eyes are bleary, unseeing. Confused or maybe just over it, he back pedals away from her touch and slams into the headboard.

Pain crawls across her face.

He'll wake up one day and he'll see it. He'll see it and he'll hate you for it.

See what, though? What deep dark abandoned crevice within her had Dylan been privy to? Was it what Norman was seeing now?

Cold, creeping fear latches onto her spine. "Norman. What's wrong?" A little girl desperate for anyone's affection.

He's still trapped in last vestiges of a dream. "Mother. Don't. Please." His head turns toward her, but his eyes don't clear. "Mother."

It's morbid curiosity that keeps her from rousing him completely. What had Dylan seen?

Norman's head thrashes against the headboard.

She takes his hand. His skin is clammy.

"Norman, hey, come on. Wake up."

"Mother?" He returns to her slowly, like waking death.

She smears on a broken smile. Strength all but abandons her. "Hey, sweetie." It's been a decade since she's called him that. She doesn't remember why she stopped.

He laces his fingers through hers, digs his blunt nails into the back of her hand.

"You're here."

"Of course I am."

"They said you wouldn't come back."

"Who did?"

He's distant, lost in a far off place that isn't the here and now. Norma's body goes cold. "Dylan and Daddy."

Daddy? He'd never called Sam daddy. Not once. It was always 'Dad.' She keeps touching him, runs her fingertips through his hair. Sweat clings to his temples.

"Norman, it's okay. I'm right here. I'm not leaving." His eyes shut tight. He shakes his head in a way that suggests he's fighting off another presence in his mind. When his eyes open, he's himself again.

"Hey." His voice is thick.

She gives him a tight smile. "Hi."

He takes in her appearance. She's exhausted and confused. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

He crawls on his knees to her, and then swings his legs over the side of the bed. She's crouched down before him, looking up into unsure eyes. His thumb brushes her bottom lip. He can almost feel the foreign presence staining her.

* * *

The very first morning after isn't as awkward as it probably should've been. He pads out into the kitchen in only his pajama bottoms, marveling at the new house and its creaky floorboards. She's standing at the stove wearing the maroon button down shirt she'd rid him of the night before and nothing else. His shirt was long on her, stopping at the midway point of her thighs. He stares. It was a sight that stirred feelings inside him that he couldn't even begin to pick apart.

He strides to her, high on memories of her beneath him. Within a span of a second, her hips are under his hands and his chin rests on her shoulder. His eyes cast downward into the opening of her shirt; she'd only done up the three buttons on the very bottom, which created a wide v that exposed the valley between her breasts. The shirt smelled like his cologne, some wintry fragrance she'd picked out for him.

"I think that's mine." He teases as he nuzzles into her neck. Her skin smelled like sex.

She looks down at herself, touches the tip of the collar. "Huh. I think you're right."

"It looks better on you." He doesn't know when flirting became so easy for him. It was her. She gave him confidence. Every time her body reacted to his last night, she'd boosted him up a little higher.

"I like it. It's like having you wrapped around me." Norman presses himself even closer, pelvis to her ass. He doesn't know what they've done. He doesn't know what's going to happen tomorrow or next week or a year from now. He doesn't know if she'll still want him like this, but for now, he'll relish it, because fuck, she feels good.

Her fingertips tick along his forearm. Suddenly, breakfast didn't seem so important. She twists in his arms. Looks him up and down. Bare chested, smirking, and insatiable, hands skating over her ass and the back of her thighs. They kiss and he balls the material of that shirt in his fists. Gets lost in her on impact.

Her lower back collides with the counter and he falls into her, kissing her deeper. Her hand dips into his pants, her fingertips teasing the inside of his thigh. He separates from her out of necessity for breath or bearing or something.

"God." His forehead drops to her shoulder, his warm breath cascading across her skin. She trails soft kisses down his neck and wraps her hand around him. A strangled groan leaves him as he bites down on her neck. It hurts.

"Asshole." He lets lose a chuckle against her skin and her hand stops moving.

His eyes shoot up. Lust has made them dark. "But I'm all yours." Her wrist peeks out over the waistband of his pants and he rubs his fingertips over it, urging her on. "Keep going."

She does. "Yeah. All mine." Certain and poised and power hungry like all the greatest rulers who ever lived. He couldn't blame her for sounding so sure; she did have quite the hold on him right now.

Her hand speeds up and she watches pleasure fall over his face. His eyelids flutter closed and his lips part and his Adam's apple stutters up and down.

_All mine._

She leans up so she can whisper in his ear. "Let go, Norman. Let go for me."

He does.

* * *

That memory lingers on the edges of his mind now, as he passes his thumb over her lips. Someone else's hands. Someone else's mouth. And this time, she'd wanted it. Someone else. He closes his eyes and finds it hard to feel anything but agony.

"Norman." Blue reappears. She's transfixed by the pain, the heartache that stares back at her. She's going to lose him. It gnaws at her heart. He'll leave her, like Dylan did.

He's going to wake up one day and he'll see it. He'll see it and he'll hate you for it.

And he had. He saw it. The shame she felt for being with him like this. The fear that somebody would find out about them. The paranoia. Love didn't matter. Love is a disease, not a cure.

"I'm sorry." She says and she means it.

She leans up and buries her face in the hollow of his throat. His instinct is to push her away, but his arms circle her, pulling her as close as possible. His lips graze her forehead. He holds her for a long time, but the flurry of black emotions doesn't dissipate.

* * *

He wanders through town after school. His stomach's in knots and he can't go home. Home wasn't a safe place anymore. His phone is a lead weight in his pocket. He removes it, turning it in his hand. There's one person he can call; one person he actually feels like calling. One person who made him feel a little less out of his mind.

The numbers blur together on the keypad, but somehow he manages. It rings four times before there's an answer on the other end.

"Hello?"

He breathes out. "Hey, it's Norman. Do you think you could meet me somewhere?"

Silence. Then,

"Norman…" Sounding just like his mother.

A shiver passes through him. "Please. Anywhere you want. Please."

"…Okay. There's a coffee shop on Lexington that's open all night."

There's a smile in his voice when he responds. "Thank you."

* * *

She finally shows up at midnight. He's nursing a warm mug between his hands and sipping periodically. He didn't have that much cash on him, only what was left over from his lunch money. He watches her close, trying to find a hint of trepidation in her posture. To his surprise, it isn't there to find. She orders at the counter and her eyes shift over to him once and twice and three times while she pays. He's visibly worn down and it causes her discomfort.

She's wearing a beige winter coat and a navy blue scarf and her dark hair is falling in perfect ringlets over her ears and her neck. His eyes don't leave her for a moment. Something about that makes her warm. She settles into the seat across from him with a small smile.

"How are you?" It's a frozen Friday night. Rain taps on the store front window, ice cold and begging to be let in. Inside, it's only them, the lone patrons, looking for something, anything that'll get them through. He got one call from his mother an hour ago. He wouldn't get anymore; his phone was off, permanently darkened for the rest of the night.

"I'm okay, I guess. I just didn't want to be alone. And you said the other day at school that I could call you if I ever…"

Miss Watson holds up a hand to stop him. "It's fine, Norman. I know what I said and I meant it. What's wrong?"

"I just needed someone. And I can't call my brother." He takes a long sip of his coffee. It hits his stomach in the form of a scalding brick. "Or Bradley." He shakes his head. His eyes fall away from hers.

Concern gathers up inside her. "Hey. Hey, look at me." He does. Stricken blue confronts her head on. "What's going on?"

"Have you ever…" He rubs his fingers over his lips. They've been cracked by the winter wind. "Have you ever been in love?"

The question sends her reeling backwards. This boy was seventeen. What the hell could he possibly know about love?

"Yes."

He says his next words to his mug. "It's awful, isn't it? It makes you feel invincible and then it tears you down."

His voice carries heartache and bitterness. If she didn't know better, she'd say she was talking to a thirty year old man. The worst part is, she knows exactly what he means.

"It does." She agrees. Her battered soul reaches out towards him, desperate for connection.

"She's in love with me, too. She said she was. She meant it. I know she did. She's just scared."

Miss Watson doesn't ask him to clarify. She just allows him to let it out into the world. His hopelessness was tangible, growing thick in the air between them. It makes her ache. For a moment, she stays suspended, drowning in her past mistakes. Who knew she'd find a kindred spirit in someone half her age?

"She's with someone else." He looks up at her. His face is the definition of defeat. "And there's nothing I can do." The image tortures him. That cop with his hands on her, peeling her dress from her body. Norman wants to tear the entire world down.

"I'm sorry, Norman. Really, I am."

* * *

They talk for two hours about everything and nothing. The coffee shop starts to feel too small for her. The longer she stays with him, the harder she seems to fall. There's something about this boy. He's intelligent and he's wise and he's damaged. It's written all over him, like words in a book. Something has hurt him or more likely, everything has hurt him. The past, the present and probably the future.

She feels the need to take that damage away from him. To rip it from his skin and his bones. It's intense and immediate and she can't make it stop. She wants to help him. Longs to.

So, against her better judgment, she invites him back to her place. She spends most of the drive glancing over at him, watching passing headlights throw white light across his face. He's haunted and broken, but that just makes him all the more alluring.

She feels like she's losing her grip on sanity.

* * *

He follows her to her front door, engrossed by the sway of her hips and the depth of her understanding. She was there for him the way she promised she would be and he's grateful. The door swings open and he quickly shuts it behind him. Before she can get too far, he grabs her wrist and spins her around. She startles as his lips crash into hers. There's a plea hidden in his kiss. She can taste it on his tongue. She doesn't push him away (doesn't even think to); she pulls him close and feels heat pool in her belly when he moans his approval.

He's haunted and he's broken and she wants him so bad she can't even fight it. He's longing for something and she needs him to find it in her.

* * *

A couple of fishermen discover it at dawn. A severed hand caught in their net. Romero knows it belonged to Keith. He doesn't even have to go to the crime scene. He does anyway and he isn't the least bit surprised to identify that ugly antique wristwatch Keith had been so fond of. And, here it was, pulled up from the bottom of a lake still intact on a severed wrist, the only remaining piece of a man he'd once called a friend.

Romero seethes. Somebody would go down for this and he had a pretty good feeling who it would be.


	8. Chapter 8

To her surprise, he's _good._ Really good. He wasn't clumsy or unsure. He knew what to do and when to do it and something about that makes her think that she was already in too deep. She doesn't have to tame him; he's already been tamed. Honed and crafted to fulfill the needs of another woman. And now, her as well.

He's on his back beside her, his breathing still unsteady. Sweat glistens on his chest and his neck and her red satin sheets cover him from the waist down. His blue eyes are staring up at the ceiling and there's a sated little smirk on his face.

Her lips create one of their own. "Damn." She says. "Where did you…?"

_A few hands on lessons from my mother. Very in depth. _He thinks to himself, chuckling at his own bad joke. He turns to her.

"I've had a bit of practice." His smile widens as he scoots closer.

Her palm finds his cheek. His skin is still flushed from their last round. "I'd say. What's the name of that woman you're in love with? I have to send her some flowers." Had to have been a woman; there was no way a high school girl taught him how to make love like that. Pleasure buzzes up and down her nerve centers.

A laugh bubbles up from his throat. He kisses her soundly on the lips. "Thank you for showing up when I called."

"Not a problem."

His thumb strokes her hip bone as he ducks his eyes. "Can I…Can I see you again?"

Dynamite in bed and still somehow insecure. She bites her bottom lip. God, she's falling fast.

"Definitely."

* * *

He wasn't home. Hadn't been home for hours. He hadn't answered her texts or returned her calls. She wasn't worried; she was furious. He'd gone back to those girls, she could feel it. Out doing who knows what. If he wanted to get back at her, that would be the way to do it. Maniacal, she dials his number again.

He finally picks up. "Hey."

"Don't 'hey' me. Where the hell are you?!"

"Out."

Her eyes roll into the back of her skull. "Out where? With who?"

"Myself."

"You were by yourself all night?"

"Yes."

That's when she hears it. A faint female giggle in the background. Her blood begins to boil. "No, you're not. You're with someone. A girl. Who is it?"

He hangs up. His mother was a hell of a woman and he loved her - perhaps too much - but that didn't change the fact that she was a pain in his ass.

Miss Watson's - Beth's (he had to keep reminding himself to use her first name) - hand strokes his shoulder. "You think she'll be all right?"

"She'll call back but I have a feeling I might be too busy to answer." A mischievous grin stretches his lips as his hands grab her at the waist. She's nude and hints of sweat still cling to her skin. He's only in his grey boxers. Her arms circle his shoulders. The kitchen table looms behind her, ready and willing.

"Oh yeah?"

"That's what I'm hoping."

* * *

He expects her to be standing behind the door fuming with her hands firmly on her hips and her foot tapping. She isn't. Oddly enough, the house is quiet and dark. The only light he can see is the one creeping out from beneath his bedroom door. It pools yellow at his feet when he reaches the top of the stairs. He's been gone all day and he's dressed in the same clothes he wore to school yesterday. Beth's perfume hovers above his skin in spite of the shower he took before he left her apartment.

His mother would smell it and then the shit would hit the fan. He breathes in deep as he turns the doorknob. What he finds behind it makes his heart flip over in his chest. Norma's sitting on the edge of his desk dressed in a flimsy black negligee. There's nothing beneath it and so he traces every line with his eyes, remembers so easily what every piece of her feels like under his hands.

Breath leaves him all at once. She strides to him. It reeks of seduction and supreme confidence. Her hands start at his chest, travel down to his hips, her fingers snug in his belt loops.

Words stick to the walls of his esophagus. Oxygen stands still in his lungs. Lust hangs heavy below his waist.

"I don't care where you were." Her fingers tighten their already desperate grip. "All that matters is that you're here now." He can see her trying to make peace with how bad she wants to know. The struggle passes over her face and disappears.

"Okay." It's neutral. Inside, arousal's tying his organs in knots. The negligee is sheer and she's wearing that black eyeliner that brightens the blue of her irises. Her lips glisten pink.

"I'm so…Norman, I'm so in love with you."

She pulls his hands from his pockets and guides them to her lower back. Her arms loop around his neck.

"I know." He says. Tears threaten at the edge of his vision.

She kisses him, hard and deep. He reciprocates, pressing himself to her, feeling every line of her press back. Resisting was difficult and he wasn't all that equipped to do it in the first place. It's when her ice cold fingers dip into the back of his shirt that reality shakes him. He pulls his mouth from hers, but keeps the rest of her close.

"As long as you're seeing that cop, you can't have me. I won't let you jerk me around. I'm not at your beck and call." The words float from his lips on a cloud of desire and finality. He wants her, but he won't be her slave. She didn't own him and she sure as shit couldn't tell him she loved him when that cop's fingerprints have left behind a road map on her skin. It's a trail Norman's traveled many times. Her face, her breasts, her hips. The images play on a reel behind his eyes, over and over until the film blurs and trembles and lands on the projection booth's floor.

And, yet, somehow, despite the things he's saying, his fingers are tugging up that nightgown and his palms are finding bare skin.

She's smiling at him. "Are you sure?"

_No. _

He pulls it over her head and gets no protest. Her arms lift straight up of their own accord and then it's just her, all bare skin and residual fingerprints of another man.

"You can't do this to me." His voice is weak covered by a veil of lust.

"I haven't done anything." She's so fucking smug. But, she's right. He's chosen all of this for himself. She hasn't forced him into a single thing. For a fleeting moment, he wonders if that would make a difference to a Grand Jury.

_Probably not _rings out in his head while he kisses her again, harder and faster than before. She hooks a leg over his hip and they fall to the bed.

He had to get out of here. All he can think about is waking up tomorrow regretting this. She'd go out to see the Deputy and he'd be left here, asking himself when the vicious cycle would end. He digs his fingertips into her thigh, can practically feel remnants of Shelby dissolve into her flesh. It would end when Shelby moved in here and Norma would be forced to explain away her deep connection to Norman.

_That's just my son. The one I used to have sex with. You can't arrest me for that, can you?_

Norman falters in their kiss. He falls away from her, bewildered.

He can hardly breathe, but he has to know.

"You wouldn't move him in here, would you?" It's a stupid question, especially under the circumstances.

She takes a second to shove his jeans down his legs. His boxers follow. Finally, she says,

"Not a chance. All of this is ours and ours alone."

_Fuck. _She always had the right words to say; they were always waiting patient, like dutiful foot soldiers.

Damn her.

So, he ends up doing what she wants. He buries himself inside her, can barely keep eye contact when that feeling hits him. It's just them here. No cops, no teachers, just them and the electric connection they share. Time itself slows down around them as he starts moving slow. He couldn't lose this moment.

"Norman."

His eyes fall closed. He drops his forehead to her collarbone while the sole of her foot caresses his calf, just above the jeans that are still wrapped around his ankles. One arm drapes itself over his shoulders and the other over the back of his neck, her fingers tight in his hair.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I love you so much. I just…"

Her words are shards of glass, ripping at his skin, leaving behind scalding wounds that bleed an angry red. To counteract the pain, he speeds up his thrusts. Tries to hide from her by hiding in her.

"God, Norman." She throws her head back and he bites down on her throbbing pulse point. He wants to leave a mark, needs to. He doesn't care if Shelby sees. Judging from the sound she makes, she doesn't care much either.

Norman smirks against her skin.

_Mine. _

* * *

In the fallout of he and Norma's nuclear tryst, he thinks about Miss Watson. Was he in too deep? Could he end it before it'd even begun? Would it hurt to cut the cord on something so promising?

Norma couldn't be any closer to him at the moment. One leg over both of his, her arm across his waist, her head resting in the space between his neck and his shoulder. Her lips play along his collarbone and continue to dip lower. She leans over so she can reach the skin above his heart.

"Mother." He says. "Stop." His fingers trail through her hair as her eyes glance upward. "Please." Exhaustion mars his tone. She wears him out.

As she settles back into his arms, he lets out a full bodied sigh.

"Are you all right?"

He kisses her forehead and hugs her to his side. "I'm fine." A pause. "Actually, I'm not. Why are you seeing him? Why are you really seeing him?"

It's her turn to sigh. "I don't know. You can't even imagine how much I love you, but he's…"

"What?"

"Easier." There's a monster inside her son that she's met head on. There's no monster hiding in Shelby; at least, not one that she could reach.

He strokes his fingers along her forearm. "We should stop."

"Stop what?"

His eyes roll into the back of his head. She could be so naïve when she wanted to be. "You know what."

"You don't mean that." She shifts so she can straddle his waist. She could be so unfair when she didn't get her way.

"I do. I do mean it. I'm not going to share you and you're not going to pick me."

Shame lowers her eyes. In the dim light, he can make out the dark bruise he left on her throat. A soft smile touches the edge of his lips. Maybe the chips could still fall his way. Norma collapses onto him, nuzzles her face back into the hollow of his throat.

Silence dwells for a long time. Her voice is small when she breaks it.

"Do you think about me?"

The laugh he lets out trembles through her. "All the time."

She raises her head. "What do you imagine when you think about me?"

"Take a guess." Another laugh.

"Tell me."

"…I think about being alone with you somewhere where we wouldn't have to hide. A secluded beach, maybe. Some place private. Cut off from the world."

She closes her eyes and he can see her picturing it the way he does. Sand between their toes, holding hands alongside the crashing waves. He sees it every day.

When she returns to him, her eyes are wrapped in tears. She readjusts herself on his lap, kisses him once on the mouth. "Keep going."

"Uh, I don't know…just a private island. Where we could be together all the time; free to do whatever the hell we want when we want. A glass house with a great view, right on the ocean. Romantic dinners, old movies." He stops, gets carried away with the fantasy for a moment. Norma can't believe he's thought about these things. Permanent isolation. Her entire being fills with love for him. Deep, unabashed emotion that's positively dizzying.

Soft fingers caress his cheek. "Come here." They kiss. It's sweet and quietly passionate. She tries to convey how grateful she is that he's in her life. That there isn't any man who could even hope to matter more.

There's a loud knock on the front door. Norma startles against his mouth. His hands let go.

"Who the hell is that?" She's whispering, scared of breaking apart their fragile compromise. It's a great contrast to how frantically she scrambles up and away. A pair of pajama bottoms and one of her long sleeve shirts sit in the corner of his top drawer. She retrieves them and pulls them on.

He watches her leave him. For a moment, he listens to her footfalls on the stairs. Then, he falls back to the pillows, letting out his fifth heavy sigh of the night.

Damn her.

* * *

"Where'd you learn to hunt?" There's a dead pheasant roasting over the fire and Ethan's watching him, trying to unravel the mystery that is Dylan Massett.

He knows he's an enigma. Hell, he's an enigma to himself. "I worked on an oil rig crew in South Dakota. Not much to do during down time except hunt." He replies. Behind them, the pot field stretches out for a hundred acres. Their shift is the last one of the night. He won't be home till morning. He doesn't mind.

"South Dakota? Is that where your family's from?"

Dylan pauses to turn the quail. "No. My dad's from Kansas. My step-dad was from Arizona. My mom…I don't where my mom's from."

"You don't where your own mom's from?" A high end drug dealer with family values. Go figure.

Dylan shakes his head. "She's told a bunch of stories. Colorado, Florida, all kinds of places."

"You have a brother, right?"

"A younger brother."

"You two close?"

His stomach twists violently. He's never actually wanted to be close to Norman. But, now that Ethan's saying the words out loud, Dylan's realized just how strange it is that he doesn't _know_ his own family.

"No" He says.

* * *

It's Shelby. But, he isn't here for a booty call. He's flanked by Sheriff Romero and three officers and he's looking apologetic. His eyes follow her body's outline. A deep purple bruise stands out on her neck. He doesn't have to be told that it's a sex wound. The problem is, he didn't leave it.

He swallows all the questions that well up inside.

"Norma Louise Bates, you're under arrest for the murder of Keith Summers." Romero's stern and rightfully pissed off. Norma glances over her shoulder to find Norman at the top of the stairs. He's in that light blue t-shirt she loves and his boxers and he's frozen solid. The officers circle her and one forces her hands behind her back and slaps on the cuffs. Deep seated memories of Keith's assault bubble in her throat.

She can feel Norman's eyes on her as she's led out to Romero's SUV. It's the only part of him that even seems to be alive.


	9. Chapter 9

The next morning is awkward, to say the least. When Norman shows up downstairs, Dylan's already at the table, shoving spoonfuls of cereal into his mouth. Norman doesn't feel anything; he's numb and uninterested, but he sits down anyway. He needs someone – anyone – and Dylan is the only viable option.

His older brother looks over at him, the spoon dangling above the bowl, suspended in space. "Morning."

"Hi." It's strange. A phantom pain collects in his ribs, the old ghost of Dylan's harsh truth from a week ago. He's close to his mother of course, but that doesn't mean he can't see her flaws. He doesn't ever hold them against her the way Dylan does, but that doesn't mean he can't see where Dylan's coming from. Norma practically abandoned him, after all.

_Maybe he's the lucky one. _A sinister voice in the back of his head, dripping with a truth Norman's forced to shake away.

Dylan's eyebrows furrow. "Is Mom still asleep?" He always made a point to call her Mom around Norman. Ever since that incident in the kitchen, he'd found himself trying to avoid Norman's buttons. He didn't want to hurt his little brother; he wanted to hurt Norma.

Norman's eyes fall to Norma's plain blue tablecloth. "She's in jail."

For some reason, Dylan isn't surprised. Norma did so much bad shit that at least some of it was bound to catch up to her eventually.

"For what?"

"For murdering Keith Summers. The guy who used to own this place." Norman sucks in a breath to ready himself into defending her. "It wasn't her fault. He broke in and he raped her." His voice trembles on the word, his throat closing up around the memory.

Something inside Dylan rips at the seams. "What?"

"I went out to a party and when I came back, he had her bent over the table. She was in handcuffs. Her clothes were all torn. I knocked him out. She'd cut her hand, so I went to get the first aid kit. When I came back, she was stabbing him. Not once or twice. Like twenty times." Blood. Blood circling the shower drain. Blood in a growing puddle on the floor. The blood on her hands slowly becoming the blood on his.

He and Dylan lock eyes. There's a bond forming now. A bond neither of them had ever seen coming. Norman couldn't even be sure why he'd just spouted the truth. Norma wouldn't appreciate it, but he couldn't keep it inside anymore. Dylan could be trusted, even if he couldn't be loved.

"What evidence do the police have?"

"I don't know. We scrubbed all the blood away and dumped the body in the lake."

"They have something."

Norman nods his agreement. A couple silent minutes pass. Then,

"…Do you think…Do you think you could take me to go see her?"

Dylan suppresses the urge to mock Norman's closeness to their mother. It isn't easy. "Sure thing."

* * *

White Pine Bay's police station has five holding cells. They're average sized, only slightly larger than his bedroom and four of them are unoccupied. The last one in the row is his mother's and the guard leads him there on a cloud of quiet desperation.

When they reach the door, the guard's gruff. "Five minutes."

Norman nods. The guard opens the door and shuts it behind Norman's back. Norman stays suspended for a few seconds, observing his mother, crumbled in the corner of the cell with her head in her hands.

"Mother." His voice sounds foreign to his own ears. Far away and strange.

Her head rises slowly, as if she can't believe what she's hearing. "Hey." She jumps to her feet and rushes to him, practically knocking him off his feet when they collide.

He holds her tight, breathing her in. His eyes close of their own accord and their surroundings disappear.

"I'm here. It's okay." Her sobs are muffled against his shoulder. "Dylan and I are gonna put the motel up as collateral. We'll get you out of here."

She steps away from him. Her tears quiet. "What?"

"Your bail's set at a hundred thousand…"

"No. What do you mean, 'Dylan and I'? You told him what happened?"

Norman swallows. Okay, so he probably should've seen that coming. "Yeah. I had to. He's not going to tell anybody."

His mother doesn't seem to hear him. In fact, she isn't even looking at him. Her eyes are turned to the far wall. "You told him our personal business."

"Well, yeah. He's…"

Her eyes are hard when they find their way back to him. "How could you do that to me, Norman?"

"I…"

"Get out."

"Mom."

"Leave!"

* * *

School's terrible the next day. Whispers and glances and the shaking of heads. Even Bradley stares daggers at him. Finally, Norman truly feels like the pariah he's always been. Miss Watson's the last person on his side at this point, except Emma, the dying girl who throws him lasting glances but never actually talks to him.

She seems to be gathering up her courage most of the time, though the lunch bell tears her down more often than not. If Norman were a kinder person, he'd talk to her just to put her out of her misery. It's truly a sad thing that he's spinning too many plates as it is. Even without Emma, one of them was bound to tumble and shatter.

Miss Watson slides him a note during class. He doesn't know if Emma sees (she sits behind him), but he smiles at their teacher anyway, trying to keep the exchange as secretive as possible. The note's taped to the edge of his graded term paper, folded into eighths.

He unfolds it in a way he prays is discreet.

_Dearest Norman,_

I never knew I could feel this way. You're always on my mind. I want to be with you every second, hear your voice, feel your touch. I want to run away with you somewhere where we could be alone. A private place where the prying eyes of the world won't find us.

Norman stops reading to take a desperate, slicing breath. His mother invades him. Nausea creeps up, squeezing tight on his stomach and climbing the back of his throat. He folds the note back up in slow motion while numbness cools his limbs.

He runs two fingers across his forehead. On the tail end of a sharp intake of breath, he removes his phone from his pocket.

'I'll come by later.' He hits send before he can change his mind.

Miss Watson, who's already back at her desk, looks down at her phone and smiles.

* * *

It's Dylan who comes to get her. She's not at all surprised to find him waiting outside the police station, leaning back against his motorcycle with his arms crossed over his chest. Gratefulness overwhelms her, but it fades away like it never existed when he opens his mouth.

"Hey." It's small, but it's enough to make her remember why she's peeved. He knows too much about her; he shouldn't be here. Norman should be here.

"Hi. What are you doing?"

He chuckles. "Giving you a ride that's a hell of a lot cheaper than a cab. So, why don't you chill out and accept my charity?" He holds out his spare helmet. Her irritation is obvious. It reads like a novel on her face and in her posture.

"I don't…"

A smirk crosses his lips. "Yes, you do."

It's obnoxious how sure of himself he is. That all he has to do is look at her to know exactly what she's feeling. That he can smirk at her and tell her she's full of shit. It's even more obnoxious that she indulges him. She takes the helmet and she gets on his motorcycle and she puts her arms around his waist. He's solid and steady, a pillar of strength. She's jealous of it because it's only what she pretends to be. She doesn't know what her life would be if she gave up her façade of control. That façade is crumbling for Dylan, Norman's made sure of it. The question is, does her oldest son feel bad for her? Does he hate what's happened to her all the way down to his core the way Norman does? It's hard to tell. After all, Dylan has a façade of his own that's far more honed than Norma's ever was. Apathy. Bitterness. The things he used to hide his longing.

She drops her head to the back of his shoulder and tightens her arms around him. The wind blows across her face and through the hair that billows out below the helmet. She lets it calm her and finds Dylan at the center of it all, the eye of the storm. Had she never given him the proper chance to love her? Had he always loved her from afar, like she did him? Did he love her still?

She closes her eyes to the pain and allows Dylan to keep her. If only for the twenty miles it takes to get home.

* * *

She's at her vanity brushing her hair when Norman shows up. His footsteps race up the stairs and soon enough he's behind her in the mirror.

"Are you all right?" His touch ghosts over her lower back.

"Better now." Their eyes meet in the mirror. "I'm sorry about earlier."

"It's okay. You're right. I shouldn't have told anyone." He kisses her hair. "Listen, I have to go study at the library. I have a big project due. I won't be gone longer than a few hours."

She stands up and circles her vanity bench so she can kiss him on the mouth and gather him in her arms. "Okay, honey. I'll miss you."

A longer kiss that drops a brick of guilt on his insides. He lets out a low moan as he pulls away. "I miss you already."

* * *

She's warm beneath him. The fingers in his hair are gentle and loving. Words are falling from her lips as a whisper.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?"

His eyes open. Sadness dulls them. "No."

"Norman…baby, I promise I'll protect your secret."

Her other hand caresses his chest. "I just want to be there for you."

He believes her. The problem is, believing her leads to falling for her and he can't do that. There's a ball and chain already secured to his ankle.

"I can't."

Disappointment embodies the sigh that leaves her. "Okay, I understand."

He sits up. "But you don't like it."

"No."

A kiss. "I'm sorry. My mother's very important to me; it isn't just my secret; it's hers, too."

"You really love her, don't you?"

"More than anything."

Jealousy burns hot in the pit of her stomach. She's not supposed to be jealous of his mother, but there's something wrong with the way he says those words. They don't feel platonic.

Her stomach does backflips as she dwells on the idea that maybe his mother is the woman he's in love with. Nausea slides and dips through her organs. His own mother. He didn't talk about anyone else the way he talked about her.

Her brown eyes stare a hole right through him.

He squirms. "What?"

"It's her. She's the other woman."

Terror steals color from Norman's face. He opens his mouth, but words don't want to come. He's so tired of lying to everyone he knows.

Beth shoots to her feet and Norman startles, grabbing her wrist to keep her still. "Wait. Let me explain."

"You don't have to. She's a monster." Norman's grip falls away as he stands, too.

"What?!"

She strides past him and he follows, confused and frightened out of his mind.

"What the hell are you talking about?!"

She spins on her heel to face him. Her eyes are aflame. "I'm talking about sexual abuse. She used your feelings for her to manipulate you into a sexual relationship. You didn't know any better."

The laugh he lets out is bitter. "No. It's not like that. I wanted it. I knew exactly what was happening and I wanted it. I'm in love with her and she's in love with me. That's it."

"Look, Norman, I know you think…"

"I don't think anything. She hasn't abused me. I haven't been manipulated. I love her."

"Whose idea was it?"

"Hers."

"Then we can call it abuse and child services would never know the difference." She turns again and he realizes that she's going for the phone in the kitchen.

"No." He grabs her rougher than before and spins her toward him. She ends up flush against his chest with her hands behind her back. He's stronger than he looks.

"Please. Don't call anybody. I can't do that to her."

His eyes drop. "Please."

"You said she was seeing someone else."

"She is."

"And so are you."

"Yeah."

"So, it's over?"

He looks away. Guilt clenches his jaw.

"You're kidding me."

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"I want you to say that it's over. Or at least that it will be." Her arms come up around his shoulders. "You can't keep yourself in that kind of relationship. It's not healthy."

"I won't abandon her. She needs me."

"Is that you talking or is it her? That's what she tells you, isn't it? She says she needs you and you believe her."

"Of course I do."

Her fingers fiddle with the collar of his shirt. "But isn't there a chance that she's telling you what you want to hear? Because she might need you to stay with her, but it isn't like she can't live without you."

_But what if I can't live without her? _

In the thick silence that flows between them, he thinks about Shelby. The other pair of hands on Norma. Another person who could be there for her, protect her, give her all the things he gave her. With none of the risk of secrecy and deception. Was Norma just so afraid of losing him that she was resorting to giving him what he wanted? Spewing crap about how this belonged to them when she continued to see somebody else? Keeping him in line with the words she always seemed to find so she could go off and do what she wanted and come home to see him waiting for her. Always fucking waiting for her.

He meets Beth's eyes. His own have grown dark from that particular barrage of thoughts and she's looking at him like she doesn't know what he's going to do next.

The words that leave his mouth send a chill down her spine. "She's mine."

He's staring past her into the void of some deep recess in his mind. He's not here. Not really.

"Norman?"

His gaze flicks back to her. His eyes are hollow and black. "Norman." She lets go of him and takes half a step back.

A twisted smile stretches his lips. "It's okay." His voice is infected, deepened by something she can't put a name to. His grip closes around her wrists. He forces them behind her back. Fear squeezes down on her lungs.

"Shhhh." He kisses her hard and she lets out a helpless whimper. His grip loosens and her arms circle him again. She can feel the tension dissipate from his shoulders. The kiss slows down as Norman returns to her. It ends after long minutes.

"I think you might be right." He says.

* * *

The meeting with her lawyer is set for tomorrow. It riles her nerves, the thought of having some douchebag defend her in a courtroom. What riled her nerves even more was the idea that she'd have to put her own fate in the hands of a stranger. That's why she goes into Norman's room. The familiarity comforts her. His life force existed here, in the family photos on the walls and the shoes under the bed and the stack of textbooks on the desk. Even from a distance, his presence had a soothing effect. Standing here, she forgets about her trepidation concerning her case. Instead, she finds something else entirely, lost in the pages of his English textbook.

She doesn't know why she opened it. Maybe it was curiosity or maybe it was that feeling that didn't ever leave her alone. That knowledge that he was definitely keeping something from her. Honestly, this was the last place she ever expected to find it. It's wedged into almost the dead center of the book: a tightly folded piece of paper that carries the scent of deception.

Her fingers go numb as she unfolds it. The handwriting is nearly perfect cursive, precise and almost professional. The words written are anything but.

_Dearest Norman,_

_Never knew I could feel like this…_

_Private place…_

_Prying eyes…_

_Wish we could be together forever…_

_All my love, _

_B. _

Norma's rage is red. She wants to scream until her lungs burn under the pressure. The whole world closes in around her, breathing sinister into her ear. Everything stops. There's no Keith Summers or Sheriff Romero or Shelby. There's just her and B, captured in this moment, connected by a single thread. Norman. Her boy, her man, her everything. He wasn't studying. He was with this tramp right now. Disgust clambers up Norma's throat until it's a taste on her tongue. Red stains her vision, but her path has never been clearer. She was going to find this woman. Whatever it took. No matter how badly it was going to hurt.

Norma was going to end it. One way or another.


	10. Chapter 10

She waits. Dylan leaves to work the night shift (where the hell did he work anyway?) and she waits. Sits in the reclining chair facing the front window and waits. In her lap is the note, open and menacing, laughing at her. He doesn't walk through the door until eleven thirty and by then, she's too far gone to be reasoned with. She's on her feet and right in his face before the door even shuts behind him.

"Where were you?" The note is a lead weight in her hand.

"I told you. The library." He ignores the item she's holding. He knows what it is and he's not in the mood. He moves past her and heads for the stairs. She's a fireball shot from a cannon hot on his heels.

She catches up to him when they reach the top. His forearm flexes under her grip. "You're lying." He stops trying to escape. It's futile. He turns around to face her instead. Her blue eyes are ice cold.

"What's this, huh?! Who the hell is this?" The note gets waved in front of him, frantic like a white flag. The last surrender of an aging, dying soldier. He's done with the mind games.

"It's nothing."

"It's something. Who wrote it?" He snatches it from her grasp mid-motion and crumbles it. For a split second, that's the only sound. That paper withering away. He tosses it to the side.

"It doesn't matter." He tries to give finality to the words, but she's on him, slapping his chest and his shoulders in a half-hearted, desperate way. All he can do is grab her. He doesn't force her away; he takes hold of her wrists and drives her backward until she's flush against the wall to the left of the staircase. His hands keep her wrists above her head and his whole body keeps her from getting away.

"Stop." A heated whisper falls from his lips, almost threatening. There's power here, trapped somewhere between them, present in the hard press of his body. He's so tired of going around in circles with her, treading on eggshells about what to do and what to say. In this relationship, he has nothing and it's because he's given it all away. This show of dominance wasn't like him, but maybe he didn't want to submit anymore. Her fingers push up his t-shirt. He allows her to pull it over his head. Her touch teases along his bare chest and he knows she sees it: The road map left behind by someone else's hands. And he knows how it makes her feel: it's losing the one thing you'd always thought you would have.

Her fingers press into his skin, between his pectorals, straight through the lines of his ribs. He shivers when they pass just above the waistband of his slacks.

"Mother." His voice is soft and her eyes abandon the trail to meet his. Beth had let him leave on the condition that he'd end things with Norma. That he'd allow the relationship to go back to what it should be. He didn't tell her that he knew this would happen. He would end up in Norma's arms again, faced with the decision and resolve would run from him, leaving him alone to fend off his own selfish desires.

And again, he's here with that decision staring him in the face, but he kisses her. Runs a hand down her thigh as her leg hooks over his hip. It doesn't last long, but it sure does send logic scurrying away.

The hand on her thigh abandons her warmth to press into the wall beside her head. Norman has to steady himself. They're too close; he can hardly think.

"You need me." He says.

Her eyes glisten. "Yes."

"Say it."

The pad of her index finger draws indecipherable patterns above his heart. "I need you."

_She says she needs you and you believe her. _

Of course he believed her. He couldn't doubt the things her body conveyed or the power of the words they spoke to each other in the dead of night. He wasn't staying with her because she wanted him to stay; he was staying because he wanted to stay. Leaving was always an option, though it was never one he would willingly choose.

He stares at her, trying to find the slightest hint that she's lying. "Just me."

She rolls her hips and his control slips away. "Just you."

* * *

He's at his most peaceful when he sleeps. Serenity stills him and she sees her little boy again. Not the man she loves, but the boy she's raised. His youth shines brightest when he's caught in the confines of sleep. She's cradled against his chest again, his arms around her waist, one of her legs between both of his. Restlessness settles on her shoulders and her head collapses to his breast, right over his steady heartbeat. She's safe here, undeniably. The darkness that crept on her when she slept couldn't find her when she was awash in Norman's warmth. Her fingertips trace over Norman's skin, round and round in circles. The motion fades away the farther she falls into her dreams. Her dreams scurry away when Norman's arms tighten around her.

"Don't stop." He's hoarse, but she can hear the smile in his voice. She lifts her head and meets bleary, half-open eyes. "That felt good."

The motion starts up again.

"I like it when you touch me like that. Like you're reminding yourself that I'm here."

How did he ever come to know her so well? She prided herself on never being more transparent than she had to be, but apparently, she couldn't even pray to fool Norman.

"I feel safe with you." Is all she says.

"You are safe with me."

Silence falls between them. It's comfortable. He stares up at her with the softest look in his eyes. Norma could feel herself melt; if he wasn't holding her, she'd be a puddle on the rug.

"You're beautiful." He's whispering now, like it's a secret he's kept. The pads of his fingers land on her cheek. His thumb brushes her lips. "Every time I look at you, my heart speeds up. And I think to myself, 'this woman loves me. This woman will love me forever.'" If it's possible, his eyes soften a little more. "The world outside of you and me is meaningless. It all could end tomorrow and I wouldn't care as long as I still had you. You're everything. _Everything _to me and I don't want to live in a world without you. I could never abandon you. I will take care of you, no matter what. You don't have to do this to keep me with you. I'll stay." He'd do anything she wanted. If she didn't want to be with him, he would obey her wishes. It would tear his flesh from his bones, but he'd suffer through it for her.

He's so caught up in the idea that he doesn't seem to notice that Norma's silently falling to pieces. She doesn't know what she's done to deserve someone who loved her so entirely. It's more like she knows she doesn't deserve him in any capacity, but she won't squander this. She didn't have the strength to give this away. No one wants him or loves him or needs him like she does. That's the thought she holds onto when she replies.

"That's not why I'm doing this." It's the God honest truth. She could live without anything else, but she refused to ever learn what it would be like to live without Norman. She would cease to exist. "I'm doing this because I love you and I want to be with you. No one else matters."

Norman's still unconvinced. If she loved and wanted him, why was she with Shelby? He was easier, that's what Norma had said. But, if her heart belonged to Norman, then Shelby couldn't matter. Love didn't listen to reason.

"So, you're picking me?"

Her mind lingers on that note. Or more specifically, the woman on the other side of it. She couldn't let him get away with it. It wasn't okay.

"Who is she?" Her entire body locks up and she feels cold. Anxious and fearful.

"It doesn't matter." Those words again. The truth or the run around?

"It matters to me."

He smiles at her. His hands run up the line of her back to her shoulders. A soft touch that hits a raw nerve.

"Norman."

"It. Doesn't. Matter. It's done. I swear."

"You swear?"

"Yes." He rolls her over, pulls her leg up over his hip. His touch rides down her thigh, his blunt nails raking pleasurably. Her hands grab him at the back of the neck. "Are you picking me?"

"Always."

* * *

He hasn't worn a tie since his father's funeral. That day is burned into his brain; it'll never leave him. He doesn't like remembering it, but as he stands in front of the bathroom mirror and ties his tie, the memories bombard him. The white casket and the red roses that stood out like a bloodstain. Holding his mother close while they were offered hundreds of condolences. He didn't let her stray too far from him; they'd needed each other just to stay on solid ground. He pulls the knot to his throat. They would always need each other. Everything else came and went, except those feelings neither could deny.

"Norman." She's in the open doorway, holding out his suit jacket on two fingers.

"Thank you."

He pulls the jacket on and watches her brush lint off with her palms. "Mom."

His gaze is severe and pained. "What is it, honey?"

"Do you miss him?" Norman doesn't know how he personally feels. Sam's been gone for eight months and Norman hardly thinks of him. He's been so caught up in Norma that he's forgotten everything else that should be affecting him.

Norma steps closer and rubs warm palms over his sides under his jacket. Her expression is guarded.

"No." She says. It took her years to learn what a terrible man Sam had been. After that, it was a piece of knowledge that gnawed at her every day. If she'd been stronger, she could've helped Dylan; she could've had both her sons. Both of her sons would love her. Dylan would need her the way Norman did. Well, not exactly the way Norman did, but still…

Norman's arms circle her. "I loved him. I did." Guilt tunnels through his guts. "But, I don't miss him either. Our life is better without him." He kisses her forehead. The contact lingers for a long moment.

"I love you so much." He pulls her into him and holds her tight. "I can't lose you. Not you. Never."

"You won't."

She's wearing a suit of her own with a knee length skirt. Somehow, his hands find their way underneath it. She gives a belly laugh and it's the most beautiful sound he's ever heard.

"Norman. Come on." She shakes her head as his teeth nip at her collarbone.

"It'll be quick."

He raises his eyes. They're begging her. "No." Another laugh, a little breathier than the last. God, he was barely trying and he was still making it difficult for her to do anything other than give in.

"I'm sorry. It's just that I want you all the time." A sigh passes his parted lips and she claims them, desperate and already intoxicated. He moans. She backs him up and his back collides with the closed door, knocking the air from his lungs. His mouth leaves her out of necessity. She rolls her eyes when she notices her red lipstick is staining him. He dips to her throat, leaves hurried kisses and her agitation disappears.

Damn it. She settles against him, her face hidden in his neck. He keeps up what he's doing for another couple seconds, then stops so he can hold her again. Gratefulness fills him to the brim. She wouldn't leave him; she needed him too much. He was her anchor, now and forever.

She lifts her head to whisper in his ear. "You're gonna have to wash your face." A moment later, his arms are empty and he's leaving the room. She watches after him, feeling her whole body become heavier without him here to keep her calm. Shaking her head, she turns around and heads to her vanity so she can reapply her lipstick.

There's a knock on the front door that startles her.

"I got it, Mother." Her eyes fall closed at the sound of Norman's voice. No matter who it was on the other side of the door, Norman would defend her.

* * *

It's Deputy Shelby, clasping his hands together and smiling politely.

"Hey. It's Norman, right? I'm Zach."

Norman's smile is tight lipped. Inside, his emotions are colliding heavily and tearing apart his control.

He shakes the cop's hand. Behind his eyes, there's Norma, naked, arching off the bed. This man's hands have brought her there, just as his have.

Norman's blood hits a deep freeze. "Good to meet you. What's going on?" His jaw clenches and his heart trips over itself before landing firmly in his throat.

"I came to talk to your mom. Is she here?"

That restrained smile appears again. "Yeah. Come on in."

His footsteps on the stairs are bass drum beats to his own ears, stunted and immense. She's just emerging from her bedroom when he stops her.

"It's Shelby." She nods at him, though she can see the tension that spiders along his shoulder blades.

With the slightest brush of fingertips on his cheek, she steps past him and heads down the stairs. Zach stands at the bottom with his hands in his pockets.

"Hi." That's her sweet voice; the one she used when she wanted something from you. Norman's been on the receiving end of it too many times to count.

His heart tries to escape through his mouth as he watches them kiss in greeting. Crimson creeps up on the edges of his vision. His body still betrays him, his feet moving toward them instead of far away. It ends quickly, that's what Norman notices. A short, chaste kiss. The kind that meant close to nothing.

_She wants me. She'll always want me. _He tries to pass that thought to Shelby through his bright eyes and the slight quirk of his lips, but Zach doesn't seem to get the message.

When Norman reaches them, she comes back to him, one arm around his waist, her cheek nestled into his shoulder. Shelby's suddenly uncomfortable and Norman feels joy flood through his body. Norma didn't want a private conversation; Norman had to stay.

"What's up?"

Norman's arm drapes over her shoulders. Mine.

Shelby shoves his hands back into his pockets. "I wanted to say I'm sorry. For not helping you out when I could."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I didn't try to end this sooner and I should have. Romero's on the war path, but he doesn't have much."

"Zach, what're you saying?"

His teeth chomp on his bottom lip. "I'm going to get rid of the evidence. Make it disappear."

She abandons Norman and steps closer to the Deputy. "Why?"

"Because I love you and I'd do anything to prove it."

Norma throws herself at him, gleeful. Numbness grabs Norman by the throat. He stands behind them and thinks treacherous thoughts. Another man who could do things for her that Norman couldn't do. Another man who was about to save her life. Breath leaves Norman in a rush as Zach kisses the woman in his arms, deeper than before. Norman would destroy the world to make it stop.

Norma pulls away first and Norman thinks he might be grateful that she wanted it to end. "Thank you." She whispers. Her son isn't the only one who notices the absence of an 'I love you, too.' Zach's face falls.

"You're welcome." He eyes them both. "Where are you going?"

"To meet the lawyer. We were just about to leave."

"You won't need her for long. I guess I'll see you later?"

Norma doesn't want to say yes. She shouldn't say yes. This isn't the man she wants. He could never be the man she wants, no matter how many strings he pulled. She ends up dodging the question.

"You might."

Behind her, Norman can't quite contain his grin.

* * *

The hospital's too clean. She's always hated that smell. The antiseptic that carried the vaguest hint of death behind it. Discomfort causes her to shift in her seat. Her mother left two hours ago, but Bradley's still here, waiting on the surgeons to come back and give her an update on her father. That familiar loneliness careens all around her and she pulls out her phone, dragging her finger down her contacts list. She has no desire to call Hayden or any of her other friends. They wouldn't understand. Norman's name appears and Bradley breathes in deep. He told her that he'd lost his father before he and his mother had moved here.

He would understand. For sure. Her finger taps his name before her brain can catch up to what she's doing.

Norman answers on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Hey, Norman. It's Bradley. I was wondering if you could meet me somewhere."

There's silence on the other end. Then, "Uh, sure. Where are you now?"

"The hospital."

"Are you okay?" She can almost feel his panic. It warms her.

"Yeah. It's not me. It's my dad."

"Oh."

"So, will you meet me?"

"Yeah. Of course."

Tears obscure her vision. "Thank you."

"No problem."

* * *

After the meeting with the lawyer, Norma falls asleep. She's not anxious or distracted for the first time in weeks and she's gone almost the second she hits the pillow.

Downstairs, Norman's on the phone with Bradley. He heads up the stairs the second the line is dead and finds Norma in her bed out cold. He smiles softly at her peacefulness and pulls the yellow comforter up around her shoulders. His lips graze her cheek.

"I love you."

* * *

The hospital cafeteria is even worse than the waiting room. Norman makes it slightly better, thank God.

"What happened?" He takes a sip of his coke and tries not to notice her eyes fixating on his lips closing around the straw.

"He got shot on the job." Her voice sinks in. It's something she's always been afraid of. Her father dying somewhere away from her while doing Gill's bidding.

"Is he a cop?"

She shakes her head. "An enforcer."

Norman doesn't even want to know what that means. Keith Summers had hinted at the darkness in this town and apparently, Bradley's father was neck deep in it.

"Oh."

He wrings his hands on the tabletop. It's a nervous gesture that endears Bradley further, though she isn't sure why. Maybe it's because he's more human than most people she knows.

"What happened to your dad? He passed away, right?" Shit. She fears she's crossed an invisible line; that he'll get up and run from her. Judging from the phantom pain in his eyes, he just might.

"Yeah. It was an accident."

She swallows. "Norman, I'm sorry." It must be even stranger to lose someone you love to something random. Bradley's been expecting this day a long time; Norman never saw it coming. Sympathy swells in her chest.

Slowly, she reaches across the table and puts her hand over his. His thumb rubs her knuckles on instinct.

"I'm sorry, too."

* * *

Norma awakes to dead silence. Briefly, she wonders where Dylan is, then decides that she doesn't particularly care. He could handle himself. Her phone buzzes from the bedside table.

The screen alerts her to one missed call, a voicemail, and a text message. The text message is from Norman.

Went for a walk. Be back soon. Love you.

She's still smiling when she hits the notification for the voicemail.

"Mrs. Bates, this is Beth Watson, Norman's Language Arts teacher. I need to see you as soon as possible."

* * *

The school's a tomb. No usual chatter or bunches of students. Just Norma wandering empty halls looking for Miss Watson's room. She finds it without too much effort. Her knuckles rap lightly on the door.

"Come in."

Norma's wary for some reason. Something about this woman (average height with pretty eyes and shiny brunette hair falling in perfect ringlets) makes her nervous and as she glances at the chalkboard, she understands why.

That handwriting couldn't get past her in complete darkness. It's burned into her retinas. She's read that note more times than she can count.

_Dearest Norman, I wish we could be together forever. _

On the board, it's some depressed loner poem and Norma turns away from it to fix Miss Watson with a hard stare.

Miss Watson returns it and multiplies by ten. "Mrs. Bates."

Norma's hands itch incessantly, her palms desperate to leave a mark across the other woman's cheek. She holds it in. Barely.

"You wanted to talk to me about Norman?"

"Yes." Beth sighs. "Look, I think it's better if we just get to the point. I know everything."

_That's funny. So do I. _"Know what?"

"About you." Disgust mars her tone. "About you and Norman."

Her hands form fists at her sides. Norman told this woman about them. Norma's throat constricts, but her guard doesn't fall.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do." Miss Watson takes three steps, her heels clacking on tile, and ends up in Norma's face. "You're going to stop or that information might fall into the hands of a police officer."

There is no information. Nothing could be proven. Miss Watson's lurid behavior, on the other hand, could.

Norma scoffs. "You can't prove a thing. But, there are things I know about you. Things I can prove. A little birdie dropped a very revealing note in my son's textbook." Sinister and conniving, the role she plays best.

"What?"

"Yeah. I found it. Norman didn't hide it very well." She points a finger that might as well be the barrel of a gun. "You stay away from him or I'll make you. You got it?"

Miss Watson stares, her eyes on fire. Norma goes on.

"He's mine and no one, especially not you, is going to change that." She gives a plaintive nod. "Have a good night."


	11. Chapter 11

The whiskey burns. It always does. He's glad for it; there's a void inside him that fills right up every time. It shrivels away in the fire's heat and Dylan comes out whole again, cleaner than he's ever been. At least until the buzz wears off. He sits in an ugly plastic chair on the Motel's porch, his thoughts quiet. There's nothing for miles in any direction and Dylan feels peaceful for the first time since he arrived in this fucking town.

He closes his eyes and lets the whole rest of the world fade. Here, there's no Norma to break him or a job he was risking his life to keep. Nothing. Just him and his too friendly whiskey, the acquaintance who helped him forget. Yet, there's one thing that never leaves. Sam Bates. His step father who made him a punching bag. Those memories haunt him when he sleeps and when he wakes. Even the whiskey couldn't heal those scathing wounds.

"Hey." His eyes pop open to see Norman standing in front of him, wearing a blue dress shirt that was buttoned all the way to his neck. Dylan laughs to himself. Fucking Mama's Boy.

"Hey. How it's going?"

Norman shrugs as he collapses into the seat beside his brother. "It's all right, I guess. Mom's not going back to jail."

"No?" Dylan isn't sure why he's disappointed to hear that.

"No…My friend's dad's in the hospital. I went to see her. He got shot on the job, some kind of enforcer."

Norman's eyes find his in the waning light of day and Dylan can't hold the gaze. He knows what an enforcer is. He knows what kind of message Gill was sending. It's the very reason he's out here, sucking on his bottle again.

"Is that what you do, Dylan?"

"No." Thankfully, he isn't lying. Not this time.

Norman studies him. His outcast big brother, the abandoned and destitute. Except he isn't. He's powerful. He holds his head high and refuses to take anything from anybody. Not even their mother, the woman who owned Norman so completely. Norman doesn't know if he hates that about Dylan or if he admires it. What would his life be if he had the strength to tell Norma no? Still, he knows Dylan isn't free from her. He's caught Norma alone in Dylan's old room, running her fingers over his bed sheets, bending her head to smell his pillow. Norma missed him, every day, and she couldn't hide it.

Norman isn't jealous. He's not. Norma didn't want Dylan the way she wanted him, but that didn't mean she didn't want Dylan at all.

The truth was she wanted him terribly.

"She loves you." Norman tries to stay conversational, but that ends when Dylan's head snaps around toward him.

"What?"

"I know you think she doesn't, but she does. Believe me."

"How do you know that?"

"I just do."

Dylan drags on the bottle again. He swallows hard and the burn fills that void. The void that Norma left when she refused to be his mother. She didn't love him and even if she did, she could never love him as deeply as she loved Norman.

"What do you think happened to Sam, Norman?" He'd rather tear Norma's world down than ever admit that he might love her, too.

The subject change almost gives Norman whiplash. "Uh, it was an accident in the garage. A huge wall unit fell over on him."

"That's a hell of a freak accident. You wanna know what I think?" Another sip of Beam. "I think she killed him, took the insurance money and got the hell out of there."

A terrified chill wraps around Norman's bones. "No. He was my dad. She wouldn't kill my own dad." But, he remembers the knife in her hand, the brutal overzealous way she stabbed Keith Summers to death. She'd said herself that she didn't miss Sam. Norman's fingers fold a white knuckled grip around the chair's arm rests.

"Come on, Norman. He was a basterd and she's insane. Dangerous, even. You know how they got along."

"He was unhappy. He didn't know how to deal with anything." _She made him unhappy. He didn't know how to deal with her. _Norman breathes in sharp as he mulls over the tremendous hold she has on him. Would his story end in the same fashion as his father's? Would he become bitter and unhappy and _abusive _under the influence of his mother's overbearing nature?

"You have to stop making excuses for other people." Dylan's direct and stone faced.

Bright headlights shine between them, interrupting their heart to heart. It's Norma's car, swerving and screeching to a stop, not even a foot from the Motel office. The engine switches off and Norman can feel the darkness before he sees it, etched into Norma's face. She stomps toward them, furious.

Her eyes fall on Dylan first. She scoffs as she points at his bottle. "I told you to knock that crap off."

Then, without warning, her steely gaze settles on Norman. It's as lethal as a shotgun blast to the chest. "We need to talk. Up at the house. Alone."

* * *

They don't walk side by side up to the house. Instead, it's Norman trying to keep up with Norma, who's storming forward, deadlier than a tornado. He doesn't know what he's done; he thought they were okay. But, he follows her into the abyss of her anger and closes the door behind him.

She stops just before she reaches the staircase, her hands firm on her hips. She faces away from him and doesn't turn around when she speaks. "It's your teacher. She's the one who wrote that note." It's not a question, so Norman stays silent. Slow, like waking death, Norma turns to look at him. "And she knows about us. _You told her _about us." Her breath comes in seething spurts. Norman pulls his bottom lip between his teeth.

"I didn't. She figured it out."

Norma doesn't hear him. "She just tried to blackmail me into leaving you alone. As if she has any power over you or me or anybody. It doesn't even matter. I have the note; I can prove she wrote it. I'll have her fired so fast her head'll spin." She meets her son's gaze. "What the hell do you mean she 'figured it out?'"

He comes closer and gathers her in his arms. "You're all I talk about. It's pretty easy to tell that my feelings for you are beyond platonic."

"Well, it shouldn't be. You have to be careful."

"I'm sorry. I can't help it. I just love you so much." He's so close that she's breathing in his exhalations. A whimper breaks past her teeth. She shouldn't want him this bad, but God, she always does.

"I know you do. I love you, too. More than you realize." His kiss is fire. She reciprocates it, lets it incinerate the last of her shame. She's in love and that is the farthest thing from shameful.

He pulls away and the furnace inside her cools off. "We should take a drive somewhere, anywhere. I want to be alone with you. Truly alone. Please."

* * *

She drives with one hand on the wheel and one hand secure in Norman's grip. Every once in a while, he drops a kiss to her fingers and she has to hold back the urge to jump him. There's no one on the mountainside road; it's almost two in the morning, after all. They head down toward the beach. The headlights illuminate dark blue waves and the perfect amount of emptiness. The car's brakes squeak on asphalt while Norma releases Norman's hand.

"Come on." She kicks off her shoes. Her strong calves draw his attention as she walks away from him. It takes him a small passage of time for him to follow. They stand at the shoreline, waves crowding in around bare feet. Norman drops to the sand and goes about rolling up his pant legs. Norma stays mesmerized by the deep promise of nothingness the ocean speaks.

"Sit down." Norman's words drift through the haze. She does as he asks, sitting down in front of him and then sliding back to fit between his spread knees. He opens his legs a little wider to make her more comfortable and secures her against his chest with an arm across her collarbone.

Her fingers caress his forearm as she leans her head back to kiss him. It's over too quickly for Norman's taste.

"Is this what you wanted?" She asks, turning her eyes back to the shimmering water.

He doesn't take his eyes from her. The moonlight's casting patterns on her skin, giving her an almost ethereal appearance. "Yes." There's a shitload more romantic crap he can spew, but he figures she's tired of hearing it. So, he holds her and allows silence to fill in the empty spaces.

"We deserve a place like this, Norman." She says after a while. "Where we can be alone and not have to worry all the time. A safe place."

"I know." There's nothing else he wanted to give her. Just that. A place where she wouldn't have to feel bad about loving him the way she did. "I don't want you to worry about anything. Ever. I want you to be happy every day. I want you to never have a care in the world." That's when she's the most beautiful; when there's no weight on her shoulders or heaviness in her heart. He wants to take all of that from her until the two of them are all that's left.

"I don't. Not right now. This is it." They kiss again, but this time, it's far more heated. Soon enough, Norma's on her back in the sand with Norman half way over her.

She spreads her legs and he takes the hint, shifting so he can settle between them. He's already half way to losing himself when he returns to her mouth. Her body entombs him. At least, that's how it feels. She's killing him slowly with all the love and adoration in the world.

"mmm." He murmurs into her lips as he tugs back.

"What?"

"Do you think this is a good idea? We're kind of…exposed."

Norma sighs. "Norman, there's no one around for miles in any direction. It's all right."

He looks up and takes in the mountain face high above them. Behind them, the waves lap at the shore, drops of salt water hitting them but going unnoticed. The ocean breeze wraps around them and keeps them close. Norman shuts his eyes to it, feeling Norma's body press upward into his. Her hands work at his t-shirt, lifting it over his head and tossing it away. He rises up to his knees, staring down at her. She's wide open and expectant.

His breath is quick and his hands fumble over his belt buckle. She steadies him and speeds up the process, smiling in a sinister, lustful fashion. He bunches up her skirt, his touch grazing her hips. Her panties travel down her legs under his influence. They fall from his grip, landing whisper quiet in the sand. With a sick little smirk, he situates himself between her legs once again. Her expression is begging him. So is her voice.

"Norman."

He doesn't move; he just stays suspended above her, his palms pressing into the earth at either side of her head. Her hold on him tightens, her calves molded to his ribs, her arms secure around his shoulders.

His body surges forward, sealing them together. The feeling makes Norman groan.

"You always feel so good." It's a whisper that descends like a lit match on Norma's already compromised senses.

He begins a steady rhythm and falls into her, chest to chest, his face buried in her neck. She touches him, fingertips defining the ridges that compose his spine. His breathing ascends and descends, strong when he pulls out only to falter when he drives back in.

They're isolated and that simple fact changes him. His thrusts are hard. The sounds he makes are closer to roars than they are to whimpers. He seems unleashed somehow, as if he's been holding himself back all this time. It makes her want to learn what else has changed with the atmosphere.

Her whole body tightens around him, devouring his self-control. A strangled little noise expels itself beside her ear. His hips slam into hers in sharp retort.

"Fuck." She doesn't curse much. It just isn't part of who she is, but he brought out the worst in her while simultaneously bringing out the best. What was she, after all, if not entirely his?

He slows down in an effort to gather himself. She whispers to him.

"Norman. I love you. I love everything about you." Another punctuated thrust and her train of thought derails into another moan of his name. He pulls his head back to look at her. She's mesmerized by the way his lips peel back from his teeth. It's feral, almost possessed. Her eyes fall closed and his mouth finds hers.

Neither of them last long after that.

* * *

He swims. Pulls on his boxers and treads out into the midnight black ocean. She sits in the sand, wearing his t-shirt and her panties. Swimming's never been a strong suit of hers. The last night she'd anywhere near a swimming pool was the night Caleb…the thought hits one of her walls. It bounces off steel plating and falls into empty space. Caleb never happened. He didn't even exist. That's what she's told herself for twenty years, hoping and praying that eventually, it'll come true. He'll stop haunting her if she works to keep him away.

Norman is all there is. Norman is all there'll ever be. No one else loved her the same; no one else could.

"Mom, come on."

She startles at the sound of his voice. He's ten feet away, knee deep in the water.

He's coming closer and holding out his hand. "Come out here. Please."

"I'm not a swimmer. You know that."

"You really think I'd let something happen to you?" His face shows no hint of insincerity. "Come on. It's okay."

His hand's warm in hers as he pulls her toward the beckoning water. Her whole body resists. Norman's touch leaves her and he turns around to face her, treading backwards into the surf, his toes trekking through mud. Waves gang up at his waist from all directions.

"Come here." He says.

Her footsteps are hesitant, but the closer she gets to him, the calmer she feels. When she's six inches away, he grabs her at the waist and completes the journey for her, holding her to his chest.

"See? It's not that bad." She hears the smile before she looks up and sees it. Her arms lock around his neck, her fingers knotting together, her knuckles going white. It's not the water that frightens her. What keeps her up at night is the idea of being cast adrift without Norman here to keep her in place.

"Yeah."

He steps out farther. The intensity of the waves picks up. Her grip on him tightens.

"Shhhhh. You're okay. I've got you."

Water lifts the hem of the t-shirt. It fans out around her, collecting liquid and growing heavier. He lets go of her so he can keep them afloat. Her heels dig into his calves as he presses them further back into the expanse of the sea. He closes his eyes and focuses on the silence. It's beautiful, but it doesn't keep Dylan's words from reentering his thoughts. In fact, it promotes them. Making love to her stopped everything else. Existing in silence with her sent everything else rushing back.

He hates it. He feels her lips touch his temple, her fingers threading into his damp hair. It's her purest expression of love. Not just the love of a woman; the love of a mother. Unconditional and unending.

The way he promised to love her. If he could only keep the treacherous thoughts from overtaking him and clouding his view.

He has to know the truth. His eyes open, zoning in on her and everything she is.

He's in love, but he's also in doubt. He watched her stab Keith Summers. He knows better than anyone what she's capable of.

"Mother." His fingertips trace over her features. Her lips, her cheeks, her nose. His thumbs caress her cheekbones. "Mother, I have to ask you something. And I need you to tell me the truth."

"Okay."

"Promise me." His voice grows hard.

Something cold gathers inside her. "I promise."

He doesn't want to ask her this. He wants another distraction. Her body reacting to his. Their love vanquishing the outside world. But, the outside world refused to go out quietly. It would fight to its last breath.

"Did you kill my father?"

The memory slams into her at his words. The truth slithers through her veins, hot and quick. Her dirty little secret about the monster that hid in him. She still sees it. When she closes her eyes, he's there with that hollow, lifeless expression, deranged and empty. It wasn't her. It was him. Some part of him, at least. Some part he didn't know. Some part he couldn't reach. Some part that haunts her.

If he can read the indecision on her face, he doesn't let her know.

In the steadiest voice she can manage she says,

"No, I didn't. It was an accident. I swear."


End file.
